Fury of Ice (37 page)

“Holy fuck…Jesus Christ!”

She swallowed him whole. Took him deep. Tortured him. Enslaved him with each devastating stroke of her tongue. And Rikar surrendered, becoming slave to her master.

Which was all, well, not wrong exactly. Maybe strange was the right word.

Usually, he controlled the play, dominated, and gave while the female submitted and took. But not with Angela. She was different, an incredible sight to behold in her power. He wore the chains with pride, curled his fingers in her hair, groaned as she took him on a ride of unmitigated delight.

Pressure built at the base of his spine. Rikar gritted his teeth—cursed, egged her on—while she showed no mercy. He pulsed against her tongue. Angela pressed her thumb to the base of his shaft, stalling his orgasm, calming him down only to go at him again. She kept him like that: on the edge, throbbing hard, a breath away from coming until he pleaded for release.

The second he said “please” she lifted her head. Hazel eyes full of mischief, she peeked up at him. “Is it my turn yet?”

Little vixen. Gorgeous tease. She was so going to pay for that.

Baring his teeth, he growled at her. She grinned. Rikar retaliated. Hauling her off her knees, he picked her up and tossed her into the middle of the bed. She bounced once, laughing as she settled on the mattress. Not wasting a second, he leapt after her, surrounding her with his body, pinning her underneath him. Shifting above her, he grabbed her waistband and peeled her out of her pants. She lifted her hips, arching her back to help him, the tips of her breasts rising and falling in wanton display.

“Beautiful fucking female.” Feasting on her, Rikar’s gaze roamed as he tossed the yoga gear over the side of the bed. Pink nipples. Red curls. Pale, smooth skin. Yum…lucky him. “I’m going to eat you alive.”

Her tongue peeked out to lick her bottom lip. “Where you gonna start?”

Holding her gaze, he palmed her knees and pushed them wide. As his hips settled between her thighs, she hummed his name. The needy sound made him greedy, and he dipped his head, flicking her nipple with the tip of his tongue. A soft touch. A little tease. Payback in its purest form.

“Mmm, yeah. More of that,” she said, trying to order him around.

He smiled against her skin, then got to work blissing her out. With a breathy moan, she tipped her head back, arched her spine, asking for more. He gave it to her, engulfing her with his mouth, suckling until she became desperate, undulating beneath him. Her hips pressed up. He held her down and moved to her other breast.

As he bathed her in heat, she gasped, “Rikar, come on. I need—”

“And you’ll get it, love, but not yet.”

Shifting up her body, he kissed her deep, letting her feel his desire. Tongues tangled, he hitched her knee around his hip, then left her mouth, tipping her chin up to expose her throat. Tasting her skin, he felt her energy swirl, reveled in her excitement and the heat of her response.

Man, it wouldn’t take long. She was primed, on the verge of orgasm already, and as Rikar stroked over her pulse point, he took a sip, feeding himself, delighting her. She moaned his name. He sucked gently, measuring each beat of her heart as his own pounded.

“After I have my taste, I’ll let you come.”

Spread beneath him, her breath hitched on a sob. She rolled her hips into his, bathing him in slick heat…tempting him, trying to control the tempo. “No way. I want it now. Give it to me now.”

“You gonna beg me?”

She growled at him, impatient and pissed off. “Screw you.”

“We’ll get there, angel,” he said, loving the control and her. “Now spread your legs, love. I need my taste.”

With a growl, he slid down her body, laved her belly button, drawing out his pleasure, making her writhe. Pushing her thighs wide, Rikar settled between, holding her still, getting a contact high from her scent. She was beautiful here, too. Pink and slick. Hot and creamy. So aroused she took his breath away. But only for a second. And in the next? He spread her curls, dipped his chin, and without mercy, licked into her folds.

His eyes rolled back in his head. Oh, fuck, she was good: hot, wet, and delicious. A feast for a starving male. Drinking his fill, Rikar worked her. Listened to her keen as he sucked the bud of her sex and slid one finger inside her.

“Oh, God…yes. Like that…” Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, Angela tilted her hips, rolling on a wave of delight. “Just like that…Rikar!”

He sent a second finger deep, stretching her, sucking hard. She arched, twisted beneath him, lips parting on a moan. He nipped her gently. Angela screamed, coming in a pulsing wave around him, blasting him with mind-numbing energy. Pleasure rocked him, then grabbed hold, hurling him sideways into oblivion. Unhinged. Enthralled. Addicted to Angela, needing inside, he surged between the spread of her thighs and thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt.

She convulsed again. Wrapped her legs around his hips and begged him for more.

Surround by her tight heat, his breath hitched as she clung to him, moved with him, using her body to milk his. Perfect. Powerful. Unprecedented. And for him, right as hell.

No one compared to her. She was the sun and moon. His bright and shining star. And as he invaded her mouth—kissed her deep and felt her throb around him—Rikar lost control, losing all of himself to her as she took him home.

Chapter Twenty-three

Shoving the last bite of pasta primavera into his mouth, Mac umm-yeahed and got busy chewing. Goddamn, that was good. A culinary masterpiece. One that fired up all the right taste buds while simultaneously filling the bottomless pit that had become his stomach. Which…yup, was a total understatement. No matter how much he ate, he couldn’t get full. Was always one step away from feeling half-starved.

Normal, he guessed. A side effect of going through the change, one he would suffer for a while. At least that’s what his new friends told him. But man, he’d never been this hungry before, and constantly hitting Daimler up in the eats department was getting embarrassing.

Not that the Numbai minded. The guy’s eyes lit up every time he saw Mac coming. Could hardly wait to feed him the next meal. Snack. Or shit…snack between snacks.

Mac shook his head. Jesus. He might as well just camp out beside the fridge. Drag his bed right into the kitchen and set up shop. It would make the free-for-all a whole helluva lot more efficient.

With a satisfied sigh, he leaned back on the stool, away from the kitchen island, and put his fork down. Silver clinked against fine china. Mac’s mouth curved up at the corners. The highfalutin utensils were a marked difference from what he was used to: a sign his life had changed for the better. Usually, he ate off a paper plate or out of a Chinese takeout container. But not here. Black Diamond wasn’t anything like the tight quarters on his boat, and Daimler had never been at his service.

The Numbai said that more than was healthy.
At your service, master
.
Of course, master. Anything else I can get you, master?
Daimler was a one-man Martha Stewart with elfish pointy ears and built-in bling thanks to his gold front tooth. And as he watched the Nightfuries’ resident go-to guy move around the kitchen—stirring the contents of bubbling pots, checking the timer on the stove—Mac thanked his lucky stars.

Black Diamond was his home now. The Nightfury warriors and Daimler, his family. Hallelujah. About fucking time. He’d found the one place he truly belonged.

Nudging his plate away, Mac pushed the stool back and stood. After a full-body stretch, he snagged the long, black case sitting beside his chair off the floor. “Hey, Daimler?”

Planted in front of the six-burner stove, the Numbai glanced over his shoulder. A hopeful glint in his eyes, he asked, “Another serving, master?”

He shook his head.

“A piece of chocolate cake?”

Mac laughed. The guy never said quit. The elf lived to serve, and he could get used to the star treatment. “Not right now. I’ve gotta get going, but thanks, man.”

A wooden spoon poised in midair, Daimler’s face fell.

The disappointed look backed Mac up a step. Or five. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt the guy’s feelings. “Toss it in the fridge for me, will you? I’ll come back for it.”

Daimler perked up, happiness lighting him up as he opened a drawer and took out a big serving knife. Mac shook his head, heaved the heavy case, and turned toward the exit while the Numbai went at the cake, whacking an enormous slice from the whole. Mac hummed. No doubt about it. He’d be back for that puppy. And another just like it. Chocolate was his favorite, after all, but…

Later. Right now he had work to do. Rikar had hit him up with mind-speak an hour ago, requesting a special delivery. Thank God.

Two days. Forty-eight frickin’ hours of waiting. Of wondering. Of worrying about Angela. And finally his XO was coming up for air.

Not that Mac blamed the male.

Angela was beautiful, smart…sexy as hell. At least every guy Mac knew thought so. And he should know. He’d warned enough of them away from her. Had even beat the snot out of a few when they’d gotten too persistent. Not that Angela knew about it. Which was how he wanted to keep it. Mac grimaced, imagining her reaction. Jesus. You’d think he had a death wish or something, messing with her love life, and if she ever found out, she’d kick his ass from one end of Seattle to the other.

Not advisable. Not much fun, either.

The rifle case bumping against his thigh, Mac walked along the artsy-fartsy gauntlet that doubled as Black Diamond’s main corridor. His combat boots brushed over hardwood floors, barely making a sound, while white walls gleamed under halogens, spotlighting paintings with names like Picasso and Jackson Pollock, van Gogh and Renoir scrawled across the bottom corners of the canvases.

Large and small. Colorful. Monochromatic. Etchings or charcoal line drawings.

Hell, the place had it all. Was serious art gallery material—the Louvre on steroids.

Not that Mac knew much about art. But from what he saw in the corridor, a boatload of cash had been dropped to dress up the walls. Not that he cared at the moment. He was too busy counting doors. The ones that marched down the hallway, interrupting the colorful art show with honey-colored wood.

Nine. Ten. Eleven…jackpot. Rikar’s bedroom door.

Mac faced off with it for a second. The thing looked innocent enough. Just a collection of antique planks put together to form a barrier between here and there. Well, at least until you considered what had been going on behind the thing for the last two days. Mac clenched his teeth. Frickin’ guy. He didn’t know what to do first. Congratulate Rikar for keeping Angela in bed for forty-eight hours straight. Or knock the SOB’s teeth down his throat for sleeping with his baby sister.

It was a toss-up, really.

He wanted to do both. Play Cupid and the protective big brother all at the same time.

Blowing out a breath, he rolled his shoulders, stretching out tense muscle. He needed to get himself under control before he knocked on the door. Hammering his XO wouldn’t win him any brownie points with Angela. She wanted Rikar—might even need the guy for more than just the physical pleasure he gave her.

Exhibit A? No one had forced her into Rikar’s bedroom. No one was forcing her to stay there, either. So treading carefully was a good plan. Especially if he wanted to keep his balls where they belonged.

Raising his hand, Mac rapped on the wood with his knuckle. Supersonic dragon hearing up and running, he heard sheets rustle, a sleepy murmur, then quiet footsteps approach the door. Within seconds, the knob turned and the door swung wide. Arctic air blew into his face, the kind that rivaled an Alaskan winter. He blinked, adjusting to the climate change, distracted as hell before—

Jesus fucking Christ.

His grip on the case’s handle tightened as his gaze met Rikar’s. Mac swallowed a growl. The male looked way too satisfied: pale eyes shimmering, body relaxed, so well fed he oozed nothing but mmm, mmm good. A vibe that bordered on obscene.

Lucky bastard. Freaking jerk.

Mac’s free hand curled into a fist. “How is she?”

“Sleeping, but good.” Blocking the view into the room with his body, Rikar raised a brow. “You wanna hit me?”

“Fucking right I do.”

“I would kick your ass if you didn’t,” he said, his eyes full of understanding. “I get your need to protect her. I feel it, too, but…she’s my mate, Mac. The one I’ve been waiting for. I need her.”

Need
wasn’t good enough. Not for his baby sister. “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

A quick affirmative. Good for Rikar. Less great for him. Looked like he wouldn’t be knocking any of his XO’s teeth down his throat. At least not today.

“All right, then,” he said, exhaling a pent-up breath. His muscles uncoiled, following the natural flow, and the tension drained, washing down his spine and out through the bottoms of his shitkickers. “But you hurt her…so much as one hair on her head? I’ll open up your skull and rip out your brain. We clear?”

“I hear ya.” Rikar’s lips twitched as he stepped toward him. Slapping his hand to Mac’s shoulder, the male squeezed, then nodded at the rifle case he carried. “Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

Rikar frowned. “You sure about this?”

“She’s a better shot than I am.” Which was saying something. Mac was an excellent marksman, his reputation in the SEAL teams garnering him some serious high-five action back in the day. But Angela’s skill with a long-range rifle outdid even him. She could hit a target—just KO the frickin’ thing—from nine hundred yards out. Incredible by any standards, but in sniper circles and among Seattle SWAT, she was revered for her steady hand and lethal accuracy. “Set her up a thousand yards out, and she’ll shred the target every time.”

“What about a moving one?”

“How much time we got to practice?”

“A week or so.”

Translation? The energy-regression was still on-the-go. Sloan had explained the process—the how and why a male altered a female’s energy beacon, keeping her safe from other Dragonkind. Pretty cool stuff, and man, Mac hoped it worked. No way he wanted to get out in the field and discover that Lothair could still track his partner. Having her there would be bad enough. No one needed the op to go south right out of the gate. Just the thought made his blood pressure rise, launching him into no-fucking-way territory.