Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

“Yeah.” That was the last thing I wanted. Being near him felt safe and good—too good. He brushed my hair out of the way and began caressing my arm with a silky touch of his callused fingers.

 

“Can I just kiss your neck? Nothing else, Isabelle. I promise.” Restrained desire clung to his words and melted my resistance.

 

I didn’t respond. Part of me wanted to see if he’d get up and go back to his bed. His soft mouth touched the back of my neck and ignited my body all the way to my core. No man had ever turned me on so quickly.

 

“Does this feel good?” he whispered, slowly kissing and stroking my neck with his warm tongue.

 

Oh God, did it.

 

I clutched my pillow and pulses of pleasure touched my sex like a heartbeat. Erotic thoughts went through my mind of him sliding my panties down and taking me roughly. Jericho was gentle with his women—I knew this from conversations we’d had. But the wolf inside me wanted more. Instincts I’d never felt for another Shifter erupted, warming my blood with ancient heat. I wanted to hear his textured voice whisper my name against my skin over and over, but I was terrified to say anything.

 

Terrified that it meant more to me than it did him.

 

But I thought about it.

 

His mouth journeyed around the nape of my neck, and I clenched when his tongue ran straight up. When he licked a sensitive spot, I shuddered, becoming wet. Every press of his lips sent another wave of need through me, and my body began to tighten, curl, and stretch. When his teeth scraped my skin with a greedy bite, I moaned.

 

“Want me to stop?” he asked, nipping on the lobe of my ear. “Say no, Isabelle.”

 

I said nothing.

 

He bit my neck with more force and I clutched my pillow, trying to figure out what I was allowing to happen. I wanted him to stop, and I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted our friendship to stay the same, but I wanted a claim on him that no other woman had. It was an unattainable wish, and Jericho wasn’t at a place in his life where he desired a mate.

 

“Can I touch you, Isabelle? I need to touch you,” he said, his voice breaking apart.

 

His kisses worked up into a frenzy, mixed with light sucking, and when he curved around to the left side of my neck, an intense tightening began to release.

 

Jericho’s hand searched for the one place that needed to feel him. His hand memorized the shape of my body as it leisurely made its way toward my thighs. When he suddenly cupped his fingers over my sex, I came to a full orgasm with one deep stroke of his finger. The intensity shattered me, and I made a soundless gasp, gripping the pillow tightly. Jericho nestled against me and nipped my left shoulder while I rode it out.

 

All from a kiss to my neck.

 

No man, before or since, has had the power Jericho held over me, unleashing a frenzy of desire from within that made my wolf pace and howl. And I wasn’t even in heat.

 

Afterward, I was so embarrassed and confused by what had happened that I leapt out of bed and bailed on him. I’d spent the next day confronting my feelings for Jericho and realized that I must have meant more to him than the other women, and maybe we could build a relationship from the strong foundation of our friendship. It might pull him out of the chaos he’d gotten himself into with the partying and drugs.

 

Maybe loving him out loud would make a difference.

 

The next evening, I returned to our room and decided to apologize for running out on him. I went with my heart on my sleeve, and that’s when I walked in on Jericho having sex with another woman.

 

In my bed. The very bed he had pleasured me in not twenty-four hours prior.

 

Standing so close to him in Austin’s hallway conjured up all those buried memories—good and bad.

 

I pushed at his chest and felt him resist. “I have to go.”

 

“Go where?”

 

“I don’t know. Away.”

 

He slipped his hand behind my neck. When I felt his fingers against my bare skin, I pulled his arm until he let go.

 

“Why do you keep touching me, Jericho? One minute you hate me and the next you can’t seem to stop groping me.”

 

He jerked his neck back. “Groping?”

 

“Yes, groping. I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate you hitting on other women.”

 

“That woman you met at the bar is not my girlfriend,” he said, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth as his jade eyes centered on mine. Why did he have to have such provocative eyes?

 

“What happened to the Jericho I remember? Is he still in there? Or has he been replaced by Sexton Cole?”

 

He blinked and stepped back, brushing his hand across the thin fabric of his black shirt.

 

“Was that sealed with liquid fire?” I asked softly, admiring the ink on his arm.

 

Jericho touched the image of the guitar on his left arm. “I had it done a year after you split.”

 

“It’s beautiful,” I said truthfully. “It suits you. I’m just glad you didn’t get something silly, like a cartoon duck.”