Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (3 page)

She flipped him onto
his back. He landed with a startled
oomph
, his hands scrambling for
purchase on her body. She straddled him quickly, taking him into herself in one
smooth stroke. He closed his eyes on a low groan and grasped her hips with his
hands.

“That is…” He
exhaled slowly and fastened his gaze on hers. “Beautiful.”

“I find you
beautiful as well,” she said, and he chuckled and tightened his grip on her
flesh.

She moved over
him slowly, watching the pleasure build in his expression, in the heat
gathering in his eyes and the flush of passion on his skin. He rocked with her,
gentle, exciting counterpoints, building her own need to a fevered pitch. She
clamped down on it, struggling for control, struggling to contain the need to
submit to the desire raging between them. His fingers found her clitoris and
rubbed, sending her soaring as he thrust up into her and spilled his seed into
her body in long, rolling throbs of pleasure.

* * *

Aaron’s heart
pounded hard, threatening to break through his ribs and escape. Hawthorne
straddled him, her own chest heaving with shuddering breaths. Even after the
completely out-of-this-world sex they’d just had, she seemed tightly controlled.
For a moment near the end, he’d thought she might pull back, and then he’d
touched her and she’d thrown her head back and come on a low cry, sending him
over the edge with her.

He pulled her
down onto him and nestled her close as their breaths calmed and their skin
cooled in the air-conditioned room. He nuzzled the side of her neck, tasting
the salt on her skin. She shifted above him, murmuring softly as he stroked her
back, found her mouth with his.

When he found
his voice, he said, “You ok?”

“I am well.
You?”

“Peachy.” He
shifted her to his side, facing her on the mattress, and wedged his thigh
between hers. “So, do you have sex with strangers a lot?”

“That is a
question you should have asked before we copulated.” She traced idle circles on
his chest, grazed a fingernail along his nipple. “I discarded my last lover in
2009.”

“Discarded,
huh.” He dropped a tender kiss to her mouth. “What happened?”

“He was a man.
Easily distracted, unfaithful.” She shrugged. “I let him live, which is more
than he deserved.”

Her answer
stunned him into silence. Did she go around killing her lovers willy-nilly?
She’d been willing enough to use her stick on him earlier, and all he’d done
was write the wrong story. What would she do to him after tonight?

“I would not let
him bring me to an orgasm. He thought me cold, unfeeling.”

So, her holding
back hadn’t been his imagination. He shifted against her, drawing her close.
“Why not?”

“That is
personal,” she said, her voice glacial.

He eyed her,
puzzled by her reluctance. She seemed so straight-forward, almost tactlessly
blunt in her honesty. “You came for me.”

“You took what
you wanted.” She wiggled away from him, easily evading his hands as he reached
for her. “I shall order sustenance. While we are waiting for its arrival, I
shall pleasure you as you pleasured me.”

He flopped onto
the bed with a groaning laugh and watched her stroll through the hotel suite,
so comfortable in her own skin she might as well have been fully clothed. A
moment later, her voice drifted through the doorway from the living room,
giving rapid instructions in harsh, guttural tones. What was she speaking? He
propped up onto his elbows and tried to follow the patterns. Russian, maybe?
Ukrainian?

It didn’t take
him long to abandon his efforts. Languages had never been his forte. Spanish
was a necessity in California and he spoke it well enough to be understood. Other
than that and the occasional Yiddish sentiment, he was hopeless at anything
outside of English.

He pushed
himself off the bed, stretched, forcing energy into pleasantly languid limbs,
and padded across the carpeted floor into the bathroom.

He’d never met a
woman like Hawthorne before, not in thirty-three years of travelling. That they
hadn’t met since she’d become a published author astounded him. So he
illustrated comics and she wrote fantasy. There was a lot of overlap between
the two, professionally and otherwise. He’d attended DragonCon two years
earlier and didn’t recall hearing her name spoken not once. Her appearance was
so striking, her demeanor so self-contained. Surely he would’ve noticed her.

He relieved
himself and washed his hands, then went to find Hawthorne. She was curled into
a loose ball on the bed, propped on one elbow with a book open in front of her.
While he’d been in the bathroom, she’d flipped the overhead light off and cut
on the bedside lamp. It bathed her in an intimate glow that muted the fire in
her hair and cast shadows over her lean curves.

He eased into
the bed behind her, spooning her nude body with his. They fit so well together,
better than he would’ve imagined given their relative heights. She marked her
spot in the book and closed it, then shifted onto her back beside him. Her face
seemed softer, relaxed. She traced her fingers over his cheek and down his
neck, her eyelids fluttering to hide her nearly ice-gray eyes as they followed
her fingers downward.

“Piotr will have
a meal for us soon.” Her breasts shifted as she sat up.

He had yet to
taste her there, had yet to explore her in full. He would, though, if she wanted,
as much as he could.

“I should like
to take you in my mouth, if you are amenable,” she said.

“I’m amenable to
pretty much anything you want, so if you want to put your mouth on me, by all
means, do.” He pressed her back against the bed and moved over her, burying his
face in her neck, his body hardening with need. Under the light scent of her
sweat, she smelled of roses and soap. The floral undertones were unexpected, a
stark contrast to her candor. How could a woman as blunt as Hawthorne be
comfortable in such a feminine scent? “But later. You rushed me before.”

“I do not rush.”
She hooked a leg over his thighs and levered him onto his back, straddling him.
“Then, it was time to copulate. Now, it is time to play.”

He threaded his
hands behind his head and considered her. “That’s the second time you’ve done
that. What do you have against being on the bottom?”

Her forthright
gaze met his evenly. “It is unpleasant.”

“Why?”

“That is
personal. Do you not derive pleasure from this position?”

“Oh, yeah, but
that isn’t what we’re talking about here. Define unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant,”
she said flatly.

“That’s not really
helpful.” He inhaled, easing his impatience. If she didn’t want to talk about
it, fine, but he needed her to open up. “Do you think I’ll hurt you?”

“Do not concern
yourself. Though you are a large man, you fit well within me.”

“That’s not what
I’m talking about and you know it. I’m asking if you think I’ll abuse you.”

She blinked
owlishly. “You are a gentle man.”

“But you don’t
trust me.” He sighed and scrubbed the heels of his hands across his face. “Why
did you have sex with me?”

“You ask
questions that will lead to nothing but more questions. Is it not enough that I
have taken you to my bed?”

“No, it’s really
not.” He tapped her hip. “Come on. Time to build some trust.”

She stayed
stubbornly in place above him. “It is my turn to pleasure you.”

“You can. Later.
When you trust me. Where’s the remote?”

He cajoled her
into sliding beneath the covers while he slipped on his boxers and found a
monster movie marathon playing on a local station. He set the remote on the
nightstand and turned off the lamp, slid into bed and curled up behind her
under the covers.

She jerked her
chin at the TV. “What is this?”

“
Godzilla vs.
Mothra
. A classic. You haven’t seen it?”

“I do not watch
moving pictures.”

“Really? You
don’t know what you’re missing.”

She twisted and
speared him with her gray-eyed stare. “What does Godzilla have to do with
building trust?”

“You’ll see.” He
dropped a kiss on the end of her pert nose before nudging her. “Hush now.
You’re missing the good part.”

As soon as she
relaxed against him, he slipped his hand from her hip to her stomach, caressing
her silky skin gently, learning her shape. Her self-control was tight, but
eventually he began to understand the minute signs she made when she enjoyed a
particular touch. The subtle shift of her legs when his fingers brushed the
curls at the juncture of her thighs. A slight intake of breath when he thumbed
the crease beneath her breast. The infinitesimal tightening of her fingers
against the bedspread when his breath caressed the nape of her neck. He
suspected an untapped well of passion lay hidden beneath her cool exterior.

A knock sounded
on the door. He padded into the living room, signed for the meal Hawthorne had
ordered, and peeked into the covered dishes. They contained individual-sized
pepperoni pizzas, crisp home-made potato chips, and New York style cheesecake
topped with fresh strawberries. As if on cue, his stomach growled. Sex and
food, he thought, and grinned. God, he was such a man.

He coaxed
Hawthorne into eating in bed. After they’d polished off the pizzas and chips,
he persuaded her to straddle him and fed her cheesecake one creamy spoonful at
a time while Godzilla stomped and roared in the background.

Later, he put
the dishes away and stripped off his boxers, cuddling behind her on the bed,
exploring her. When his touch had her breaths coming in silent pants, he eased
her onto her back, pulled her leg over his, exposing her core to his touch, and
slid his fingers over the nub of her sex as he kissed her.

He waited until
she was ready, until she was writhing under his hand and her mouth clung to his
in a desperate kiss, then shifted over her and nudged her core with his
erection. He slid inside inch by agonizing inch, gritting his teeth as he
fought not to seat himself fully within her in the first thrust.
Building
trust
, he thought around the haze of molten need welling up in his gut, and
then he was there, sheathed inside her slick heat in a satisfying pleasure that
engulfed him, pushing everything else aside. He managed one gentle thrust before
she slid a leg over his thigh. The next thing he knew, he was on his back and
she was moving over him, her hips undulating in steady circles, pulling him
into a sharp peak, their cries mingling as waves of intense pleasure crashed
over them.

Hours after
Hawthorne brought him to her suite, Aaron slipped from her bed. She inched over
into the space he had vacated, surrounding herself with the remnants of his
warmth, and watched him dress. A sigh of contentment rolled through her. They
had pleasured one another three times that evening. Even the raucous noise of
Godzilla had not been enough to dampen the need. Building trust, he had called
it. These modern humans and their euphemisms.

He sat on the
edge of the bed and toyed with the ends of her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I shall find
you when my schedule permits.”

“I’m amenable to
that.” He pressed a light kiss to her mouth, ending it far too quickly. “I
don’t carry my phone with me or I’d give you the number.”

“I would rather
speak with you in person.”

“Me, too.” He
considered her for a long moment, his chocolate eyes intense. “I can’t believe
I want you again.”

She sat,
allowing the sheet to fall to her waist, baring her breasts to his gaze. “You
may stay, should you wish.”

His laugh was
shaky and low. “Tempting, but it wouldn’t look good for me to come out of your
room in the morning.”

“Think you I
care?”

“No, but I do.
You deserve better than having people gossip about you.”

“They already
do. If you are not comfortable staying, I shall not harangue you.”

“Good. Don’t
think I could handle any more haranguing, not after the hanbō incident.”
He kissed her again and rose from the bed, and muttered a curse under his
breath. “Those breasts should be registered as lethal weapons.” His hands went
to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them in rapid twists of his fingers.
“One more time and then I really have to go.”

She held her
hand out to him and welcomed him into her bed and body, and when he left, held
his pillow close and breathed in his scent as she fell into a deep, peaceful
sleep.

Her morning
errands ran longer than she would have liked, eating into the time she had set
aside to find Aaron and perhaps break her fast with him. She called her
assistant and had her begin checking Aaron’s story, spoke with housekeeping
about the roughness of the towels, and called Lali to wish her a good morning.
Her granddaughter chattered aimlessly, her soft voice punctuated by giggles and
squeals. Hawthorne snagged an apple from the kitchen and ate it in delicate
bites as she listened to Lali and wove her way through the hectic hustle and
bustle of the hotel. Upon entering the dining room, she spotted a familiar dark
head bracketed between Dana Goldburg’s pudgy coworker and a woman whose fingers
trailed along Aaron’s forearm with more familiarity than was healthy or wise.

“Lali, darling,”
Hawthorne said. “I must attend to business now.”

After
disconnecting the call, she found a trash can and threw the remainder of her
apple away, her gaze fixed on the tableau containing Aaron. He had left her bed
less than six hours before and already allowed another woman to claim him with
inappropriate intimacy. Hawthorne licked the apple’s juices from her fingers as
she strode through the half empty room and contemplated her options. Fairness
dictated that he have one opportunity to explain his actions, and then? She
shrugged, testing the harness holding her sword across her back. He would not
be the first man she had beheaded for infidelity, nor was he likely to be the
last.

She hated killing
a man who built trust the way Aaron did. A man with such skills should be
nurtured, cultivated. Infidelity, however, could not be tolerated.

The moment Aaron
spotted her, his eyes went heavy with need. Gratifying, but not enough to stay
his impending punishment.

She stalked
toward his table and halted beside it. “Good morrow.”

“Hawthorne.”
Aaron rose politely. “We were about to eat. Join us?”

“No, thank you.”
She met his bemused stare levelly. “I have only a moment to spare.”

“Ah.” Aaron
stuffed his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “You remember Jason, and
this is Jeanne Cho.”

The woman
speared Hawthorne with a condescending gaze, her dark, slanted eyes
contemptuous in her round face. “His wife.”

Hawthorne’s eyes
narrowed subtly.

“Ex-wife. Very,
very ex,” Aaron said. “We’ve been divorced for years.”

Jeanne slid a
coy glance to Aaron. “Only because you’re stubborn.”

“More because
you walked out.” Aaron shifted his gaze to Hawthorne. “Jeanne writes fantasy,
too. The two of you have a lot in common.”

“I do not
share,” Hawthorne said. “It is therefore unlikely that she and I have anything
in common.”

Aaron dropped
into his chair as an awkward silence fell over the group. Levi approached the
table wearing an apron and carrying a tray laden with steaming plates of food. He
distributed them with an easy grace, then slid the tray under his arm. “Can I
get y’all anything else?”

“We’re fine,
thanks,” Jason said.

“Great. Let me
know if you need me.” Levi came around the table and bussed Hawthorne’s cheek.
“Morning, Nana.”

“Nana?” Jeanne
said. “You know this woman?”

“Hawthorne is my
relative,” Levi said.

“My
great-grandson, to be precise.” Hawthorne stared down her nose at the offensive
woman. “He is not to be trifled with.”

“Nana.” Levi
breathed out the warning. At the same time, Aaron said, “Your
what?
”

Jeanne raked a
narrow-eyed gaze down Hawthorne’s form. “You don’t look
mature
enough to
have children, and I know you’re not old enough to have greats.”

“The women of my
people age gracefully,” Hawthorne said evenly. “Unlike the women of your
people.”

“Cougar,” Jeanne
muttered.

“Sloth.”

Jeanne leaned
forward and hissed, “Ice queen.”

Hawthorne
shifted her attention to the woman.

“Oh, shite.”
Levi clunked the tray onto a table and put himself between Hawthorne and Jeanne,
his arms spread wide. “Don’t do anything rash, Nana. Remember what happened the
last time.”

“Last time?”
Jason sat up straight, his gaze avid. “Eh, what last time?”

Aaron pinched
the bridge of his nose. “I’d like to know that, too.”

“The woman shall
not come to harm by my hand,” Hawthorne said, more to placate her kin than
anything. If Jeanne laid another finger on Aaron, Hawthorne would use the point
of her sword to inflict damage. Technically, that was not her hand. “However,
one would think a writer could do better than to recycle a hackneyed insult. Do
you not agree, Levi?”

He dropped his
hands and smirked. “Good one, Nana.”

“Exactly how old
are you, Hawthorne?” Aaron asked.

Hawthorne opened
her mouth to give him an honest answer. He had asked, after all, and should he
not know the truth since they were building trust?

Levi
interrupted. “Older than she looks.”

Aaron’s gaze
drifted quickly over her unlined face and athletic build. His eyes lingered on
her midriff, bare between the bottom of her leather halter top and the
low-slung waistband of her leather pants. “How
much
older?”

“You know how
you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to?” Levi said. “This
is one of those times.”

Aaron slumped back
into his seat, appearing dazed. Jason’s gaze bounced between him and Hawthorne.

“I have to get
back to work.” Levi picked his tray up off the floor and dropped his voice to a
low mutter. “Behave, Nana. Remember how good this Con is for business and try
not to cut anyone’s head off, ok?”

“You worry
unnecessarily.” Hawthorne gave him the customary farewell, touching her lips to
his mouth and forehead. “All will be well.”

He shot her a
skeptical look as he left. She watched him for a moment, ascertaining his
safety before turning her attention back to Aaron.

“Your food
chills, so I shall be brief.” She pulled a spare keycard out of her back pocket
and held it out. “I wished you to have this, should you desire to build trust
with me this evening.”

A flush crept up
Aaron’s cheek under his tan. Jason raised an eyebrow at her. Even the
indomitable Jeanne looked puzzled.

“Is ‘building
trust’ not a euphemism for sex?” Hawthorne asked.

Aaron covered
his face with his hands and groaned.

Jason snickered.
“That’s one way to put it. I wondered what you were up to last night.”

“Cut it out,”
Aaron muttered. “She has trust issues, ok?”

Hawthorne
dropped her hand and stepped away from the table. “I have embarrassed you in
front of your friends. My apologies.”

She pivoted away,
ignoring the ping of hurt in her chest. Men. Rational talk failed and beheading
was frowned upon by her kin. What was a Daughter to do?

Behind her,
Aaron scrambled from his chair. “Hawthorne, wait. I want to build trust with
you.”

She peered at
him over her shoulder. “Truly?”

“Honest.” He
came around the table and placed his warm hands on her shoulders, rubbing
gently. “I can come up around nine, if that’s ok.”

She toyed with
his shirt, another button-down, this one a deep red and gold plaid. “I shall be
there.”

“Yeah?” He
pressed a kiss to her forehead, then one to her mouth in a lingering kiss. “How’s
that?”

“It is the other
way around,” she said gently.

“I know. This
way, though, I get to kiss you as much as I want.”

She cupped his
face in her hands, absorbing the smooth texture of his skin. “You please me,
Aaron Kesselman.”

“You please me,
too.” His mouth brushed across hers twice more before he stepped back. “Maybe
I’ll see you around today.”

“Perhaps.” She
slid the keycard into the front pocket of his denim trousers and ignored the satisfaction
she gained when Jeanne squawked. If Aaron’s ex-wife minded the intimacy, she
should have cared for him better, a mistake Hawthorne had no intention of
emulating. “Try to keep other women’s hands off of your person.”

He grinned.
“I’ll do my best.”

Hawthorne
observed him reseating himself, admiring the long legs and firm bottom encased
in worn jeans, then turned to leave. Her departure was interrupted by Jeanne’s
hissed question.

“What are you
doing whoring around with that bitch?” Jeanne asked

Dead silence
descended on the area around Aaron’s table. In two seconds flat, Hawthorne
reached it and grasped the top of the other woman’s chair, tilting it back at a
dangerously steep angle. She placed her face close to Jeanne’s pale one and
allowed the deadly intent in her own eyes to seep into her expression. When
Hawthorne was certain the woman understood, she shifted, speaking into Jeanne’s
ear in a voice that carried no farther than the table’s occupants. “Let us be
clear, child. I allow you to live because Aaron is my lover and his affection
for you lingers. Otherwise, my sword would have already cleaved your pretty
little head from your slovenly body. Do not mistake my mercy for anything other
than what it is.”

She released the
chair, letting it drop onto its legs with a thud.

Jeanne reared
away from Hawthorne, her expression twisted with fear and loathing. “You’re
insane.”

“Believe that if
you must.” Hawthorne nodded at Aaron and Jason, who gaped at her. “Gentlemen.”

She strolled
away, confident her warning would be heeded.

Behind her,
Jason said, “So, you’re building trust with Hawthorne, eh?”

Aaron snorted
out a laugh. “In more ways than one.”

Hawthorne
allowed a small smile to lift the corners of her mouth. Yes, Aaron Kesselman
pleased her. Perhaps when DragonCon had run its course, she would invite him to
attend her in Tellowee. He would come, of this she was certain, and he would
not think of another woman during his residence in her home.

Her smile faded
abruptly. Aaron’s ex-wife had fumbled her bid for his heart. That the woman
could not accept the loss graciously spoke ill of her character, particularly
when considered in tandem with what Hawthorne already knew of her. A woman such
as that was unworthy of a man of Aaron’s talent and stature, but it was of
little consequence now. Hawthorne would see to that.

She put the
matter out of her head and focused on the day ahead, ignoring the mounting melodramatic
hysteria issuing from the frightened Jeanne.

* * *

The day dragged
by as Aaron made the rounds, moderating one panel, sitting in on another one,
answering questions from aspiring comic book artists as patiently as he could.
His final panel of the day was on publishing. The illustrator on his left
droned on and on about traditional media versus drawing software. Aaron checked
his watch discretely and stifled a groan. How much more of this did he have to
sit through before he could be with Hawthorne again?