Bayon Jean-Baptiste

JEAN-BAPTISTE Chapter 6

Leaving the warm bed and sweet, soft body of his female had been the hardest thing Jean-Baptiste had ever had to do.
But it would pay off. In a grand surprise he hoped would please her, and show her that her first impression of him- bad news-was inaccurate.
Even at two a.m. the French Quarter was packed, in full party mode everywhere he looked-brimming with revelers. Everywhere but Isi's shop.
Jean-Baptiste slid the Jag into a vacant spot in front of the house and killed the engine. Black and quiet. This wasn't like her. Midnight to five a.m. were her prime working hours. Either she was avoiding certain customers, or straight-up avoiding him.
She'd have known he'd return, that he wasn't going to accept one quick shut down about coming to the Wildlands.
She'd have known he'd try again. And she'd be prepared.
Jean-Baptiste evaded the front door, and circled around to the back. He wanted the window that led straight into the body art room, the one they'd spoken in earlier. The room he knew best.
He swung himself up into a nearby tree, then silently crept to the edge of a thick branch and reached for the latch on the window. But before his hand even made contact with the chipped white paint, the scent of something pungent shot into his nostrils. Whatever it was stung like hell, and made his brain go slow and fuzzy.
"Was this head trip meant for me?" he muttered with irritation. "Or someone else?"
For anyone who wishes me harm.
The words blasted into his head, a near explosion of sound, and Jean-Baptiste whirled around, hissing as he reached for the red powder he carried in his pocket. She was somewhere above him, high in the tree, and though he couldn't see her, he could scent her.
Granted, if this had happened a few days ago-shit, a few hours ago even, before Genevieve had eased and stroked his feral cat-Isi's magic would've pulverized him, made his cat so insane he'd have been debilitated. He'd have fallen out of the tree, clutching his head and begging for the pain to stop.
But times had changed.
"You know I don't want to hurt you," he said into the darkness, gripping the powder in one hand, swinging up onto another thick tree branch with the other.
"But our kind is in serious trouble. Our borders are compromised, our magic is dying far faster than we realized, there's been an attack inside our lands, and the first Pantera cub conceived in over fifty years might not survive."
"What's wrong with you?" Isi said, her voice strangely far away, though her scent remained immobile. "You seem...
different. More powerful."
"The cat's caged, Isi."
He heard her gasp. "What?" Then curse. "I want to help you, okay?" she said, her voice fearful and all over the place now. "But I just can't." Jean-Baptiste took a deep breath and calmed his insides. "I'm afraid you must."
His instincts were sharper than they'd been in years, and his nose had always been first rate. In under three seconds, he leapt to the top branch. He caught her gaze, her shocked expression just before he opened his hand and blew the red powder straight into her face.
"Damn you, Baptiste," she uttered, her eyes rolling back in her head, her body swaying. "I can't...I'm not meant to be there..."
She passed out. But before she fell, Jean-Baptiste pulled her into his arms and held her close, then dropped easily from branch to branch until they hit the ground. As he headed around the side of the house and toward his car, he growled softly. He didn't relish in the fact that he was taking this female into the Wildlands against her will, but these were desperate times.
Not just for the Pantera.
But for him.
* * *
Genevieve awoke to rich, yellow beams of sunlight, the earthy scent of coffee, the delicious feel of Jean-Baptiste's warm, thickly muscled body against her back, and the breath-stealing intrusion of his steel-hard cock slowly pushing inside her.
She instantly arched her back, groaning as she gave him better access.
Jean-Baptiste brought an arm around her waist and up to grip her shoulder. As he filled her, inch by wondrous inch, he pressed down on her shoulder, sending him as deep as possible.
Grinning, her entire body flaring with heat and hunger, Genevieve let her eyes drift downward. Jean-Baptiste's other hand had slipped between her legs and was working its way to her sex. The muscles inside her pussy clenched in anticipation, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to keep her back arched or swing her hips forward. But before she could even pull another thought from her already-fuzzy brain, she felt his teeth on her shoulder. Growling, he scraped gently over her skin as his fingers slipped into her wet pussy lips.
After that, it was impossible to do anything but give in and let her body react and respond.
Thrusting inside of her, nipping at her shoulder, circling her plump clit, Jean-Baptiste hit all the right spots, and Genevieve moaned and fisted the sheets and moved with him. God, being filled by him, taken by him, felt so right. Like the perfect breeze off the bayou, the perfect day when everything goes just as you planned it-the perfect kiss from the one male on earth who sees past your buttons and starch and into your splayed heart.
"Genny," he uttered roughly. "Just the thought of being inside you, so deep inside your tight pussy, is enough to make me come." He cursed and bit her shoulder again. "But the reality...Christ, it's like a drug. A drug I never want to come off of. A drug I will never let anyone else near-"
He pinched her clit. Lightly. But it was Genevieve's undoing.
She moaned, arched her back even farther, circled her hips over and over, feeling the volcanic rush of impending orgasm spread through her. And when he did it again-pinched her sensitive bud, a little harder this time-she screamed and came apart in his hands.
It was too much for Jean-Baptiste. He roared into the beams of sunshine cascading down upon them, gripped her, nipped her, and as she bucked wildly in his arms, he gave her three hard, deep thrusts before he came inside her, before he filled her with hot, milky seed, before he gathered her up and held her impossibly close.
It seemed like hours, days, maybe even weeks before either of them moved again. Before they even stirred. They lay still and sweaty as the sunbeams were temporarily overtaken by clouds, then returned, brighter and warmer than ever.
Then Genevieve purred and rolled in Jean-Baptiste's arms until she faced him.
She draped her leg across his powerful thigh and stared. Sweat agreed with him.
So did sex. His eyes were glowing. His dark hair fell around his neck, the tats, his jaw. And his mouth was a dusky, well-worked-over, crimson color. She wanted him again.
"Yes, Miss Burel?" he said, his eyes flashing with heat.
She grinned. "I smell something amazing."
"Well, thank you."
She laughed. "No, not you."
"Not me?" He plastered on a frown, which frankly only made him look sexier. "Then it must be the beignets and coffee."
"You're kidding?" Her heart pinged and she came up on her elbow. "You did that for me?"
He reached down and gave her
backside a playful slap. "Just trying to impress you, Miss Burel."
She loved being called Genny, especially when he was inside her. It was soft and gentle and intimate. But she had to admit there was something that made every inch of her skin tingle when he called her Miss Burel. "I can't believe you went out just to get me coffee and beignets. Where are they? I need them now."
He laughed. "Easy, ma cherie. I'll get it. I'll be serving you. Feeding you.
Though, with how late it is, the coffee might be a little on the cool side."
"Late?" She looked around for a clock, but didn't see one. How late was it?
"Nothing to worry about." Jean-Baptiste growled, kissed her thoroughly, then flipped the sheets back and sat up.
"And the beignets are only part of the surprise."
"Really?" The time was momentarily forgotten as she caught sight of his smooth, broad back and the spear tattoo running up the length of his spine. God, he was truly mouthwatering. "Are you spoiling me, Mr. Baptiste?" she purred.
He glanced over his shoulder, gave her a heavy-lidded, highly sexual grin.
"All day, every day, Miss Burel." Heat rushed through her. "Tell me."
"I took care of our little problem." Confusion intermingled with the heat inside her and she came up on her knees.
"What do you mean?"
He stood, lifted an eyebrow. "Isi is in the Wildlands."
Genevieve's lips parted, but nothing came out. No breath, no gasp, no words.
Even though the sun was shining outside the glass doors, the room suddenly took on a gray cast, and inside Genevieve's brain, electric shocks of fear and warning detonated.
No. He couldn't have... she couldn't have...
"I took her there myself," he continued, standing gloriously naked before her. "It's done, ma cherie. Our mission is complete, and we can stay here all-"
"No!" The word came out harsh and fearful, and Genevieve wasted no time in scrambling off the bed. "Oh my god.
Oh my god." What time is it? How long did we sleep?
"Genevieve? What the hell's wrong?" Everything. God, how could she be so stupid? So careless? How could she have allowed herself to forget the point of this trip in a one-night-of-meaningless-fun sinkhole? Shit, the one road to her future...
What the hell time was it?
"Genevieve," Jean-Baptiste said again, this time with a growl attached.
"It's over," she said, grabbing clothes out of her bag and throwing them on.
"What's over?" His voice was low, wary.
"My career. My shot." Finding a way to fix the broken magic in my family.
Where was the damned clock?
"What are you talking about?
Raphael's thrilled."
She hastily toed on her shoes and zipped up her bag. "I have to go. Right now. I have to go." I have to see if I can repair this damage. Beg the elders for a second chance.
"I thought this would please you. I thought..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll call for the car."
"Don't worry. I'll take a cab. I can get back on my own." She wouldn't make this mistake again. She'd swear it to them.
"Okay, this is bullshit." Jean-Baptiste was at her side in a second, naked and tense, grabbing her by the arms. "Look at me."
She stilled. She didn't want to. God, she didn't want to. When she looked at him, bad things happened. Bad things that masqueraded as amazing,
wonderful, perfect, future-killing, things.
But her eyes slid up anyway. And as she met his gaze, saw the confusion and the heat and his desperate need to understand her, her heart squeezed. And her mind whispered traitorously. Love?
"Is this about bringing Isi in yourself?" he asked. "Wanting to impress Raphael? First assignment kind of thing?"
"No."
"Then what?"
She shook her head, bit her lip.
"You need to talk to me."
"I have to go."
"Not yet."
"You don't get to hold me here," she said, her throat tight. "I want to go."
"You want me," he said, his face a mask of hunger and heat.
Oh, god.
"You want me, Miss Burel. Say it."
"Of course I want you!"
"Then stop this. This ranting. This fear." He released her shoulders and took her face in his hands. "I'm here with you, Genny. Don't you understand that? You know how I feel, what I want
-what I'm offering. My life is yours now. It's insane and too fast, but it's right. We both feel it. All I want to do is be with you, care for you, protect you." His eyes searched her. "Whatever the problem is, I can fix it. Just tell me. Talk to me."
She shook her head, her throat raw and tight.
"Yes," he assured her. "It's what males do for their females."
Never in her life had someone looked at her this way. Wanted her this way.
Utterly and unabashedly. And yet, she couldn't embrace him. She'd chosen her path, made her commitment to the elders.
And you didn't go back on that. Not unless you wished to incur their wrath.
Her family needed her now. And as she'd found out with her parents, running off, giving in to selfish choices, wasn't going to solve the problem of the busted magic attacking her family.
His voice deepened to a possessive growl. "I've claimed you, Genny. I nearly marked you with my teeth a moment ago, for fuck's sake. And if we'd been inside the Wildlands, if I'd had access to my puma's claws, I would have."
She gasped then, her eyes going wide.
All that he'd said when she was in his arms, beneath him, in front of him, crying out his name, came back in a rush. Yes, he'd offered for her and she'd allowed her mind to dismiss it. Pretend it never happened so she could enjoy the little bit of heaven she'd wanted so desperately.
But now, looking up into his fierce, darkly handsome face, she could no longer dismiss it. The beautiful, perfect offer, and the ugly truth.
"No one can claim me, Jean-
Baptiste," she said with such deep regret it was palpable. "I'm not a Suit. Not anymore. I work for the elders. I can never be this way with you again. And I can never be your mate."