Home. Maria was home and he’d returned to her safe haven. As long as he held her close, he wouldn’t see Tennessee’s face as he spoke his last dying words. Pushing the thought from his mind, Jake gripped her hips, spread his fingers over her soft skin, and helped her match his rhythm. In and out—slow and easy—in and out. He never wanted it to end.
All too soon, she clinched her inner muscles around his cock. “JakeJakeJake.”
The way she called out his name, strung together with no breaths in between, the way it sounded like a plea for something only he could give her, almost severed his control. Gritting his teeth, he waited until the shudders traveling through her body faded. Then he flipped her over, rose to his knees and grabbed her legs, hooking her ankles behind his back.
Because he feared words he had no right to say would flow from his mouth, he clamped his lips together and pressed his fingertips into her thighs. A need to possess every inch of her rose, bringing with it an aggression he’d never felt before with any woman. There was a beast inside him he never knew existed before her, one that craved to mark her as his, one that wanted to kill any other man who touched her.
Afraid this violence welling up inside him would cause him to hurt her, he called on all his years of discipline and training, tempering his movements, softening his touch.
She gave his ass a thump with the heel of a foot. “Stop it. I feel you holding back and I don’t want you to. I want you to give me everything you’re feeling.”
“I’ll hurt you,” he ground out.
“Never. Give it to me, Jake. I need it.”
He couldn’t deny her, couldn’t deny this new need powering up inside, ready to explode. He let go of the control he’d tried to maintain. Still on his knees, he ruthlessly thrust into her, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.
“God, yes,” she cried out and rose up, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she scraped her teeth across his shoulder, then clamped them down on his skin.
“Jesus, Chiquita,” he gasped. The pain was exquisite. Jake cupped her bottom, supporting her and burying his face in her neck, pressed his lips to her pulse point, and inhaled her scent deep into his lungs as he sucked on her skin, satisfying his need to mark her.
“Now. Please, now.” She wiggled against him, taking him deeper inside her.
“Maria,” he whispered reverently, knowing it would be the last time he would say her name while joined so intimately together. He came hard and fast, his hips rocking, grinding against her pelvis as though he just might be able to disappear into her depths.
“Jake,” she answered, whispering too, and tightening her hold on him.
After one last thrust, he eased them down onto the air mattress. Spent, drained to the equivalent of a wet noodle, he combed his fingers through her hair and took a few seconds to regret allowing this to happen and what he was about to say. Although it would hurt her now, she deserved better than him and someday she’d thank him for it.
It would mean never returning to K2 and the job he loved. When she met the right man and fell in love, there was no way he could bear watching her with someone else, couldn’t stand seeing her have babies who weren’t his. The job on the West Coast was waiting for him, and he’d leave as soon as possible.
She’d fallen asleep, the way she always did after they made love. For a few more minutes he held her in his arms, trying not to think about it being the last time he’d ever do so. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent, imprinting it in his memory, then kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering on her silky hair.
Refusing to consider his actions, he slipped his hand under his pillow and palmed his knife. At the bottom of her neck, where she wouldn’t notice it missing, he cut off a strand of her hair. Curling it around his finger, he held it up to the dim light of dawn. Staring at it, an idea occurred to him. Something he could do for her. He wasn’t sure how much he needed, so he plucked a half dozen—probably more than necessary but he wanted to be certain.
So as to not wake her, he slowly stretched his hand to his duffel bag and grabbed his sunglasses case. After tucking his prize inside it, he slipped the knife back under his pillow and allowed himself a few more precious minutes of watching her sleep in his arms. It would be for the last time.
The moment had come to let her go.
Biting back words of love—the things he really wanted to tell her, had planned to say once he’d returned home—he gave her bottom a little slap and forced the hateful words out of his mouth.