Geared for Pleasure (27 page)

She set down her jug with enough force to rattle the pots beside her. “I gave you leave to attack me once because I truly regret what happened and what you’ve been through.” She lifted her hand to caress the base of her neck, drawing his attention to her throat and making him flinch. “You have used up the little pity I had. Go back to your room before I forget you are recovering, and that I enjoy Dare’s company too much to watch her cry over your death.”

Adrenaline and heat blazed through him in a way he’d not felt since… since the Siren. He lowered his arms and took a step closer. “For some strange reason I cannot sleep. Why do you think that is, Seraphina? Am I airsick? Still overcoming the remnants of vayun inside me? Or do I simply fear that the moment I let my guard down…” He reached out to touch her wrist gently, letting his thumb glide over the weaponized bracelet. “The moment I relax, I will discover I’ve been betrayed. Again. Sold into servitude and chained against my will by lunatics as fond of torture as you seem to be. As possessive of their whips.”

She jerked her arm away from his touch, moving to her knees so he wasn’t towering above her. “I do not sell people. And you are not the only soul to have been abducted in recent months.”

“I know.” His fingers curled into fists at the memory. “Believe me, I know.”

Seraphina frowned. “I owed a man named Muller a debt. He said you had something he wanted, he refused to tell me what, but that my debt would be considered paid if I made it easier for him to retrieve it from you. I thought he was just going to steal something. I did
not
know—I would never have left if I’d known what he planned.”

Cyrus pressed his fingers to her lips, unable to stop himself from caressing her there. From remembering her taste. “So no more lying. Good. I need no pity and I have no illusions that my prick was particularly unique.” His smile was bitter. “Not even the best ‘sword’ on your trophy case, I am sure. We are both aware that you knew precisely what you were doing. Precisely why you gave me
comfort
. It was not true desire. The outcome was the same, regardless. You got what you wanted, and I had something precious stolen from me. What do you think we should do about that?”

Her eyes were green flames burning him with their heat. She opened her lips, sucking the remnants of the meat’s juices from his fingers in answer.

She licked his flesh and he moaned. “What are you doing?”

She gripped his wrist in her hand and pulled his fingers away from her mouth with a low growl. “I don’t know. Why don’t you… fight me?”

Her lips were on his before he could respond. The same ones he had memorized in his dreams, searching for the lie within them. The pretense.

He tried to think, tried to reason. What was she after now? What could she gain? But after her tongue began to battle with his, he knew there was no hope. He simply did not care.

She tasted of life and freedom. The rare, wild rains that had brought the Avici desert to life during his stay there. Her teeth bit at
his lips and he bit back, his passion as consuming as hers. His blood as raging.

Cyrus felt her legs wrap around his waist, clinging tight enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He repaid her in kind, tightening his embrace even as he cursed the rigid corset that dug sharply into his bare chest. He wanted to feel her breasts against him. Wanted to know she was real. That
this
was real, and not just another fantasy haunting his nights with images of freedom.

He tore his mouth from hers. “Claws.”

She gasped and smiled in wicked delight. “So you want a little pain this time? My specialty.”

Cyrus gripped her forearm to stop her from swiping his chest. Her nails had extended into long, razor-like points. Felidae claws were lethally sharp. Sharp enough to cut through skin… and clothing.

He shook his head, licking the small trace of blood from his lips. Her bite was sharp as well. “Claws or a galley knife, Seraphina. Your choice. I have to feel your skin on mine. I’m too impatient for laces and leather.”

There was no hesitation in her movements. If she was disappointed in his commanding ways she hid it well, bending her wrist and slicing down the center of her corset with an accuracy and skill that should have given him pause.

“All of it?” Her corset had burst open at her action, her voluptuous breasts no longer confined or contained. It made it difficult to focus on her words.

Cyrus forced himself to nod, his attention riveted to her pale flesh as she loosened her legs’ grip on his waist and used her nails to cut a slit down her leather shorts.

She sheathed her claws and reached for the panel of his pants. The buttons scattered, bursting through the silence around them.

Cyrus slid his fingers through her richly red hair and tugged so
hard her neck was forced to arch. Lowering his head, he closed his teeth around the lobe of her tipped ear.

Her sensitive, Felidae ear.

She cried out and he lifted his head to quiet her. “You may enjoy being watched, Seraphina, but I prefer privacy for
this
.”

He gripped her thigh with his other hand and dragged her to the edge of the counter. Heedless of the clattering glass and iron beside her, he guided himself into her heat.

They both groaned low and long as her tight sheath soaked him, clinging to his cock. She fell back on her elbows and he followed, tracing a path along the curve of her breast with his open mouth.

Seraphina cupped her breast high and pressed it against his lips, demanding his kiss. He felt her tail curling around his hip, along the seam of his ass, and he thrust deeper inside her in reaction.

She sent him to the brink of insanity and pushed him over without a thought. Her scent. Her body’s reactions. The way she lifted her hips off the wood, taking him despite her submissive position… she was carnality in living flesh.

“Harder,” she growled. “I
need
it. Or did you forget I am not as weak as your human lovers?”

He sucked her nipple deep until the hard peak scraped against the roof of his mouth. He felt the whip coiled at her hip and released its clasp.

He lifted his head and slowed his thrusts. He didn’t want this to be over to quickly. “I have forgotten nothing.”

Her muscles flexed. Alert. Good. He felt the leather-bound handle against his palm and let the long, braided whip glide up her ribs to the underside of her breasts.

His voice was rough. “How many men have felt the sting of this since our night together? How many have begged for your lash, for your brand of punishment?”

She tightened her legs around him, hesitating for a moment before tilting her chin. “I’ve lost count.”

He thrust deep and smiled as she bared her teeth. “How many of them knew it was a lie? Knew that this was what you wanted, what you really fantasized about?”

She arched her neck as he scraped the whip across her sensitive nipples. “I’m betting none. You’re a good liar, Seraphina. But you cannot lie about this. Not when I can feel how wet you are. How much you love—”

She grabbed the whip out of his hands and wrapped it around his back, pulling him forward until he was pressed against her. Her teeth bit into his chin and she growled.

He was lost.

There were no more words, only sounds of almost painful pleasure as his hips pounded out a powerful rhythm that made the heavy table shake, despite the bolts holding it firmly to the floor.

Cyrus felt her drop the whip to the ground and her palms slide along his back in restless agitation, over the rough ridging of scars he knew were there. Frustration and anger mingled with lust and need. Her touch tore him open. Her heat soothed him. Her name was a curse and a prayer repeatedly whispered in his mind.

Seraphina.

She consumed him from the inside out. He was breaking apart. Burning to ashes just as her high keening cry echoed off the galley walls.
Yes.

He jerked his hips back, every fiber of his being rejecting the separation as he gripped his cock and ensured he did not find his release inside her. He cursed himself for not thinking of protecting himself before he’d taken her. Not thinking at all.

He lifted his mouth from her breast reluctantly, his mouth already empty, hungry for more of her. It was a feeling he had to resist.

Despite the weakness in his limbs, the pounding of his heart, he
resisted the urge to collapse against her. To let her sensual pheromones wash over him. Arouse him again.

He could use that as an excuse, but he needed nothing more than the sight of her, the thought of her, to seduce him. To destroy him.

He stood and adjusted the panel of his pants, grimacing as he searched for a galley rag. He would not look at her. Could not stand to see her perfect body opened and flush with pleasure. To meet eyes that would be warm, or cool with calculation. It was that thought that had dragged him from her initially—that she was not as lost as he was, just very good at what she did.

He caught the scrap of leather that had been her shorts as it bounced off his chest. “Use this to clean up, Wode,” she said snidely as he clenched them in his fist. “And keep it. You may need to polish your sword when a warm body is not available. You can think of me.”

Cyrus did not enjoy the accusation in her tone. Or the feeling of self-disgust weighing on his chest like a stone. Was this what he was now? Passion and anger, reaction with no control? Was this what he had become?

He should apologize, but instead he slid his hand into his pants pocket, watching her expression turn from smug to shocked as he dangled her bracelet between his fingers. “I would rather keep this instead, if only for the duration of our flight. I would sleep easier knowing this was not in your possession.”

Her exotically sharp features took on a feral look, up-tilted green eyes slitted, high cheekbones taut, and full lips stretching, revealing just a hint of incisor. Her body shimmered with the aftereffects of heated sex.

Wild.

She slid off the galley counter with one smooth, agile motion, which took her not toward him, but farther away. Her breasts were unselfconsciously displayed when she stood on the other side.

Proud and wild.

Cyrus tensed, knowing a predator when he saw one. His willing partner of moments before had become a dangerous stranger. If he did not know what she was, he would believe he’d hurt her. Made her feel threatened and anxious. As if he had that power.

She curled her lips in a semblance of a smile. “You think I need that? I like the way it glimmers, nothing more. In all your Wode training, did you learn anything about Felidae? Not the trained, drugged, helpless ones. Not the mindless, lifeless miners that spend their lifespans in a cave or surrounded by a stormfence.
My
kind. My guess is no.”

He knew more about Felidae than she realized. He had been born at Faro Outpost, a steamferry’s ride away from the island designated for Felidae who could not abide civilization. He was chosen to be Arendal, privy to all the articles and history of the Felidae and the laws pertaining to them. Laws written by the Raj and enacted by the Wode.
His
kind.

With all of his knowledge, however, he would admit Seraphina was singular. She was unlike any Felidae, or any woman, he had ever known. It was what drew him to her. What made her dangerous.

“I know enough.” He kept his voice low, his gaze steady on hers. “Enough to heed the Queen’s Chalice when she speaks for her loyal friend. I trust her.”

Seraphina’s shoulders curled inward, as though he had dealt a blow to her chest. He slipped the bracelet back into his pocket, his chest heavy with regret. “Enough to keep this somewhere safe on the chance our compassionate shield guard is wrong.”

“Phina, are you listening?”

She gripped her head to hold it steady as she leaned on the railing of the main deck. The sun was too bright, the side sails rustling
obnoxiously in the wind. She dare not even look through the dodge, else she would disgrace herself. Perhaps a drink would set her right.

She cringed. “How can I help it, Captain, when you are shouting so loudly?”

Captain Amaranthe’s sigh was a violent wind that seemed to shake the Deviant to its beams. “We need you present, Phina. I know you’ve been upset by Gebby’s loss and our new crew. In any other situation, I would be tossing one an hour over the rail myself. Or sharpening my swords on their ever-wagging tongues.”

The captain’s hand patted her shoulder awkwardly. Her attempt to console was almost amusing enough to make Phina smile—if she were not afraid of the pain that would cause.

“Dare has finally offered us some positive news. She knows where we need to go. We are one short resupply away from finding our queen. Or another clue as to her whereabouts. I wanted the three of us to talk before the men arrived.”

Phina’s lips tilted at the way the captain said the word “men.” It was worth the pain, and was precisely the way she felt this morning. The way she’d felt since Cyrus had walked out of the galley, regret and mistrust in his eyes.

She
wanted
his regret. Wanted to wear it like armor to protect her from this new, unfamiliar emotion. Guilt.

Seraphina Felidae, Lightfoot, Phina Fleet. No name she went by knew the meaning of that word. She had left it behind long ago. She did what she had to do to survive, to protect the people she loved and get what she came for. Whatever she came for.

Now every thought she had was laced with the emotion. What she had done to the Queen’s Sword, what she had let happen to the queen. The fact that she had not thought of the fate of her elder sister since the moment Cyrus Arendal had come, stumbling and wounded, into view.

Perhaps she was as hopeless as her brothers always claimed. Born wrong. Unwilling to accept her destiny. Her path.

She opened her eyes when Dare pushed her tangled hair back and found the petite shield guard’s indigo eyes welling with tears.

Damn. She’d forgotten.

“It’s true, then? You can feel people’s emotions?”

When Dare nodded, Phina made a face. “That might be the worst inheritance for a human I can imagine. Felidae have a similar talent. I’m told it’s a defense mechanism to sense threats. Weakness. But it is just about heat and body language. I would loathe sensing every emotion the people around me were experiencing. I imagine I would learn I had no friends at all, or none whose thoughts I cared to be within shouting distance of.”