Fatal Strike (17 page)

“I don’t have a place right now. I’ve been in limbo. Not that I’m a deadbeat living out of my car, or anything,” he hastened to add. “I make good money when I put my mind to it. I’m just in a state of transition.”

“I know that state,” she said.

“My friends have been bugging me for years to buy my own place. I’ve been holding off, until I figure out what I want.”

“And have you figured it out yet?”

He took his time with his reply, shifting her so she was basically sitting on his lap. Feeling the heat of his unflagging erection, stiff against her bare bottom. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m starting to get a clue.”

She had a fleeting sensation that she might be walking into some sort of a trap, but she just kept going with it. “What, then? What clue?”

He nuzzled her neck, and the soft caress of his warm breath made her shiver and press closer to him. “It has to be in the mountains,” he said. “With some good climbing nearby. I might have to design it myself, because I want something really specific.”

She stared at his hands, which were clasped around her waist, beneath her breasts. His forearms were sinewy, the hair lying flat and shiny crosswise across the ropy muscles and bulging veins and tendons, so dark against the white tee shirt. “Specific how?”

“Huge trees,” he said, almost dreamily. “Big, old growth forest. Cedars, spruces, silver pine. With ferns and trillium and starflowers and rock lilies. A mountain stream nearby. With a waterfall.”

She caught her breath, and blushed. “Ah . . .”

“Not too close to the city, but not too far, either,” he went on. “Lots of space in the house. Living quarters downstairs, huge deck, fabulous view, fireplace. Windows everywhere. A big man-cave dug into the back, where I can do all my tech geek stuff and have a big nasty tangle of circuits and wires and shit. And upstairs, a huge loft. Vaulted ceilings, skylights, space. For the artist studio.”

“Oh,” she said, weakly. “Uh, wow.”

“An outbuilding, maybe, for the metalworking stuff,” he went on. “And a kiln out back. For the ceramic pieces.”

“You know my work?”

“Every last piece in your online website,” he said. “I’ve never been much for visual art. I specialize in sound. But your stuff really does something to me. I never get tired of looking at it. The ceramics were my favorites.
Persephone’s Pride
, I loved that one.
Pandora’s Box
was amazing, too. I was bummed that somebody had already bought those, or I would have gotten them for myself. My very first art investment.”

She was startled, and touched. “Wow. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “None necessary. You did all the work.”

“I thought I knew about the nature of evil, back when I made those pieces,” she said.

“And now?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know shit.”

“So make new versions,” he said. “I’ll commission them from you.”

She shook with silent emotion, to high and fine a vibration to be laughter. “They wouldn’t be pretty,” she warned.

“I’m not scared,” he said.

She looked him in the eye. “No, you aren’t, are you? I’ve never met anybody as fearless as you.”

He looked uncomfortable. “We all have our strong points and our weak points,” he said.

“Miles,” she said. “Listen to me. You’re a sweet guy. Amazing. Brave, special, gorgeous. Heroic. You saved my life already, multiple times, if you count the mind shield. It’s more than I ever dreamed anyone would ever do for me. You’ve done your part. Thank you.”

“I already told you not to thank—”

“I’m not finished!” she snapped, frustrated. “I have a huge shadow hanging over my life. I blight everyone that I touch—”

“Not me,” he said. “You did the opposite to me, and I—”

“Huge shadow, got that? You should run in the opposite direction. Run! Don’t walk.”

He was silent, his face thoughtful. He shook his head. “I’m not going to do that, Lara. How can I do that when you keep pulling me back in? You’ve been pulling me from the beginning. I can’t walk away from you, let alone run. I can’t pry myself away with a fucking crowbar!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t seem to stop.”

He frowned. “Stop what?”

She flapped her hands. “Coming on to you. Clinging. Pleading for attention. Sneaking inside your head. Begging you to fuck me.”

“I’m not complaining,” he said. “I liked it. Even when I thought I was psycho. I like it even more, now. You don’t have to beg.”

She hid her face in her hands. “Oh, God. Will I be responsible for you getting killed, too? And all your friends too, most likely?”

“Those guys are as tough as they come,” he said. “And as far as that shadow goes, it’s hanging over my life, too. Same damn shadow. I wouldn’t get away from it by running. And you make me strong.”

Indefinable emotion blazed through her, making her heart twist and ache. So hot and sweet and painful. “I’m glad I have that effect on somebody,” she whispered. “I don’t feel strong at all.”

“But you are. You’re a survivor. You’re incredible.”

She shook her head violently. She couldn’t bear to give in to this, to him, and then have it torn away from her, but that was the way it was destined to go. She could feel it. No way to stop that machine.

“I have no idea what my future holds, Miles,” she said. “All I know is that it’s probably not going to be pretty.”

“I know one thing your future holds,” he said.

She shook her hair back. “Yeah? And what is that?”

“Me,” he said, and pushed her down onto the bed.

He’d never felt it like that. Beyond emotion. It rose up from the depths of his being. She felt it in his kiss, the way he handled her, covered her, held her. Tight, jealous. She wasn’t slipping away from him. He wasn’t falling for any bullshit about danger or blight or shadows. Let them just try to mess with her.

Let them try. Bring them on. He would fuck them up so bad.

She felt good beneath him. Strong and pliant, legs wound around his waist. That sweet mouth pressed to his, gasping for breath. Twining and pressing up against his weight. His hands were all over her, shoving the shirt up so her breasts pressed his chest. He cupped her ass, slid his hand down to stroke her thatch. He petted the length of her tender slit with his finger, up and down.

“You washed off all your lube,” he observed.

She blinked up at him, straining for little panting breaths. “Huh? Oh, ah . . . yeah. I didn’t know we would . . . that you would want to—”

“No problem.” He slid down her body, folded her legs out wide. “There’s more where that came from.”

He heard, vaguely, the frantic words. Felt the fingers tangling into his hair, pulling desperately, but he was in the grip of a huge, muscular impulse.
Mine.
The moment he tasted her sweet salty lube against his tongue, it multiplied, exponentially. So slippery hot and succulent, all her sweet tender pink inside bits. He wallowed in her quintessential femaleness. Could not get enough of it, not ever.
More.

She still yanked on his hair, but she wasn’t trying to pull him away from herself, and she was making those sounds, trembling and jerking, lifting herself against his sliding, thrusting tongue. He explored every delicate detail of her pussy with his tongue, all spread out and shining, flowerlike gradations of pink and rose and scarlet, whenever he managed to move his mouth far enough away to focus on it visually. That soft-focus flush of arousal fogged his brain to madness. And her clit, taut against his tongue. He trilled it, suckled it. Yum.

He’d always liked going down, had thought it was juicy and sexy and fun, but he’d never had his mind blown by it like this. She was so fucking beautiful, every detail of her. He licked and laved and suckled voraciously at her until she came, and came . . . and still, he stayed, mouth pressed to her juicy slit, wallowing in bliss while she jerked and sobbed through the shuddering waves of pleasure. Every shining little pulse, throbbing straight through his own body.

And she hadn’t even done her mind thing. She wasn’t even inside.

She was more than wet enough at that point, for anything he might have dreamed up, but he was having such a great time where he was, lapping up yummy girl juice, he just kept at it, following her sounds, her sighs, the quivers against his delving tongue, until he brought her off again.

He shifted, wiping his mouth and crawled up the bed to poise himself over her, folding her legs up high. She was so graceful, so pretty. Every part of her. Her smiling lips, her soft, dazed eyes. Open and willing and trusting. Her hands on his chest. Pulling him.

Wow.
She made the word, but no sound came out.

“Glad you like it,” he said. “I’m going to be doing a whole lot of that. You’re so small. Delicate. You’ll need lots of licking.”

“I’m not delicate,” she said.

“Then I’ll just have to come up with some other excuse to spend hours with my head between your legs. Lose the shirt.”

He helped her tug the shirt up, and pulled her up, too, piling pillows behind her until she was halfway upright.

“Watch us,” he said.

Her gaze darted down, to his hugely enthusiastic cock, beet red with eagerness to get down to business. “Okay,” she murmured.

He wrapped her hands around his cock, and covered them with his own. They played with it together, leisurely strokes of his cockhead, up and down her slit. Sliding inside, but not too much, just a teasing push, and then up again, to swirl over and around her clit, like a tongue licking. Up, down, around, little wet sounds in the silence. Until he was shiny and hot with her lube, until she was squirming, trying to maneuver herself so she could force him deeper inside.

He held her firm. “Get inside me first,” he told her.

She laughed, her cheeks hot pink. “That sounds kinky. It’s hard, when you’re, ah . . .” She gestured down at his cock. He slid it a little bit deeper, and pushed, until he encountered resistance.

“In,” he said again. “You might as well get used to doing it when I make love to you.”

“Oh, really?” Her giggles were breathless, jerky. “Why is that?”

“I like you in there,” he said. “Like a Chinese box. You, inside. Me, inside. Makes my balls practically explode.”

“That state seems to come pretty naturally to you.”

“Just do it.” His voice was rough. “I need it.”

She closed her eyes, pulling her soft lower lip between her teeth, and concentrated.

He hung onto his self-control and kept petting her, nudging himself deeper inside. Twist, swirl, and stroke. Twist, swirl, and stroke. She whimpered, squirming for more, but he held back, waiting.

“Concentrate,” he whispered.

“I’m trying, but you’re making it harder,” she complained.

“Technically speaking, you’re the one making it harder,” he said. “That’s your job. I’m trying to make it softer.”

“Oh stop it, smart-ass.” She wiggled, gasping, and then—

Ah.
It lit up, that sensation inside, a shining glow in the Lara place. Every time, she did it quicker. It made his cock swell and his balls ache, and his throat twist up. His chest felt hot.

“Yeah,” he muttered, hoarsely. “Do that. Stay there. Right there.”

She placed her hands on his chest, like she was bracing herself, and the words scrolled on the screen inside.

ur different this time. ur vibe. its changed.

He circled her clit with his thumb, pushing deeper. ?? he replied.

all commanding whoa

that a problem 4 u? Another slow swirl, twist . . . and a deeper thrust made her gasp.

dont know yet.

tell me when u do know. He bore down and drove deep inside.

They cried out, together at the slick, plush caress of her perfect body. His cock, hugged, squeezed, and loved by every quivering muscle inside her. He pressed the mouth of her womb. Stroking, swiveling, pulsing. Finding the inner places that lit up. The mind connection intensified his awareness, making his pleasure hers.

He set a slow, surging rhythm. They clutched each other, breathless, staring down at the point of contact, where his thick flushed shaft slid inside, and then dragged slowly out, gleaming wet and caressed by her soft folds. Surging, thrusting.

“Look at you,” she whispered. “Master of all that you survey.”

He kissed her hungrily, tangling tongues before he lifted his head. “That sounds arrogant and hateful and entitled. Am I that bad?”

“God, no,” she said. “Not bad. Amazing, rather. I want you. If I didn’t want you, we’d have a big problem, but as it is, go ahead, feel as entitled and arrogant as you want. Oh, my God . . .”

She arched, head flung back, softly sobbing as another throbbing wave enveloped her. The most awesome sensation, the clenching pulses squeezing, petting him. He almost came with her, but teetered back from the brink. No way. Not yet.

Long and slow. Orgasms for hours. He had a point to make, a precedent to set. “The vibe seems to work for you,” he said. “As long as my arrogant entitlement makes you come, I can work with that.”

“I shouldn’t encourage you,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous.”

“Too late,” he told her.

And it was. Their hands twined, locked on either side of her head into clasped fists. His hips drove against hers. So hot, so tight, so wet. Her mouth open to him, her tongue, so sweet, darting, twining. She was strong, for being so narrow and slender. Lithe and flexible. Meeting him, holding him. The rhythm got wilder, pounding desperately.

Their mutual explosion blasted them to oblivion.

So much for the orgasms for hours. The point he had wanted to make. His arrogant entitlement, too. When he got the use of his brain back, he was as humble as they came. Wrecked. A pile of steaming, smoking parts. He rolled off her, flopped onto his back so she could breathe. Stared at the ceiling until he got the strength and courage to turn and gaze at her face. Nervously. Hopefully.

She looked dewy and soft. Her eyes were endlessly deep and lovely. A mystery he would never plumb, but he could die happy trying.

“You okay?” he asked. “Did I, uh . . .”

She shook her head, with that secret smile. She formed the word
no,
with her mouth, shook her head. Blew him a little kiss.

That radiant, luminous smile scared him to death. All that “mine” bullshit. No longer an issue. Probably never had been.

He was hers. After all his arrogant posturing. All hers.

He stared at her, the fear setting in. Like a drumroll rising, now that the urgent thrum of sex no longer overlaid it. And he thought he’d had problems before, walking the tightrope of all his tedious problems. Brain damage, mortal danger, pissed-off friends, psycho monsters.

Now he got to field it all while holding his naked beating heart out in front of him, in his hand.
Uh, excuse
me . . .
I think this is yours.

Yeah. Sweet.

 

Better than food, better than air. It felt so good, pressed to his hot skin, his arms wrapped around her.

She wanted to bathe in his life energy. Taste his salt flavor, lick him, stroke him. Eat him up. She was high on him. Craving more.

So wrong. So poorly timed. She had no business inflicting her shipwrecked self upon him now. He deserved someone whole and functional, not a broken, gasping, grasping thing. Clinging like a shred of seaweed. Feeding off his strength.

He propped himself up onto his elbow, stretching out his other arm, making his back ripple and flex in the most breathtaking way, but he was unselfconscious about it. He grabbed the cake from the bedside table. He gave her a menacing look. “Food.”

“What is it with you and food?” she complained. “I promise, I’ll eat everything in good time! Lighten up!”

“No.” He forked up an intimidating bite of chocolate cake with an oozing glob of coconut caramel goop draped on top, and waved it in her face with a threatening air.

She took the fork, carefully cut the bite into two pieces, and ate one of them. Sugar shock almost made her dizzy. “Sweet,” she gasped.

He held out another forkful.

“Wait a minute.” She took the fork from him, and pointed it sternly in his direction. “We take turns. It’s a huge piece.”

He narrowed his eyes, but she waited stubbornly, fork in hand.

He finally accepted the bite. “Wow,” he said. “Sugar orgasm.”

He gave her the next bite. She gave him one, and so it went until the chunk of pastry was reduced to crumbs and smears of caramel.

And by then, the hunger on his face made a yearning open inside her, hot and wanton. She set down the plate on the bedside table, and held out her arms. A disorienting spin, and
oof,
she was flat on her back, with Miles all over her, his deep kisses faintly flavored with caramel. But he pulled himself off, turning away.

She sat up, bereft. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “You need rest.”

“But I like it.”

He held up his hand, a warding gesture. “Saying no, being sensible, cooling it down, all that is up to me, evidently. I get that you’re not going to do it. But don’t mess with me when I try.”

“But it’s fun to mess with you. And I haven’t had fun in months.”

“No.” He ran an assessing eye over her body. “We’ll discuss more fun after you’ve finished that meal, slept ten hours, and then eaten another meal.”

“That’s harsh,” she commented.

“Yeah, brutal.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, groping for his jeans. “Gotta get this thing into my pants and put a padlock on it.” He buttoned the fly, and groped in his pocket for a smartphone. “Mind if I make a quick call?”

That was such an odd request, she was taken aback. “Uh, sure.”

“I need to distract myself.” He lifted the comforter, tossed it up over her naked body. “Cover your chest. The view melts my brain, and I’m going to need my brains to make this call.”

“Who are you calling?” she asked.

He shot her a dour look. “My mother.”

That startled a peal of laughter out of her. “You’re kidding. Now?”

“Don’t think I’m one of those guys,” he said, defensive. “It’s just that I haven’t spoken to her in weeks. Not since I lit out camping. She’s out of her mind with worry, or so they tell me, and I felt really bad about it, but I just couldn’t talk to her. Not in the shape I was in.”

“Then why now?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I guess because, for whatever reason, now I can. And if I can, then I damn well should. I promise, I’ll make it short. I just have to catch the impulse, before I lose my nerve.”

“Go on, then,” she urged. “Want me to leave? For privacy?”

He looked shocked at the idea. “Hell, no! This is your room. Stay right where you are. Don’t even move. Unless it’s to eat.” He picked at the keyboard, and turned, giving her a perfect opportunity to admire the muscles in his back. The astonishingly perfect shape of his ass.

“Hey,” he said, his voice uncertain. “Mom? . . . yeah, it’s me . . . oh, God, Mom, please, don’t.” There was a long pause, then he spoke again. “I know. I’m sorry. Sean told me he talked to you, and that you . . . yeah. I was busy . . . yeah, I know. No, it’s not an excuse. There was this girl in trouble, and I . . . yeah, that’s what I said. A girl . . .” He shot a grin over his shoulder at her. “Her name is Lara. She’s an artist. Yeah . . . it was tricky. Of course I was careful.” He listened patiently for a moment, and she could see, though his face was turned away, that he was grinning. “Yes, she’s a nice girl . . . yeah, pretty, too.” His gaze darted to her. “Beautiful, actually. Sure, first chance I get . . . don’t know yet, Mom. Things are dicey, and I have to . . . yeah, but . . .” He held the phone away from his ear, frowning. “Yes, she is, but she’s just gotten out of a bad situation, and now is not the time to ask her to . . . no, Mom! Not a chance!”