The Yearning (19 page)

Mike did his business, shaved, brushed his teeth and started the shower. With the curtain closed and the water pounding into the porcelain tub, he felt relatively safe and alone, an acceptable setting to exercise his power. He focused on the shower caddy’s contents: a bottle of designer shampoo, conditioner, soap and several sponges.

The spray’s noise muted the mounting buzz, insurance Ben or Lily couldn’t hear it. To this day, Mike wasn’t certain if others detected the noise. His parents could. However, they had the same genes as he. Erica also picked it up. Not a surprise, since she was telekinetic too, a secret they shared. The bastards who ambushed him and Tommy hadn’t seemed to notice the drone, possibly because they’d been too preoccupied with their escape when they’d seen the gun’s muzzle moving on its own. As to everyone in this house, he wasn’t about to take a chance on discovery.

He willed the speckled brown sponge to rise. It shuddered in place. He kept at it. The thing climbed the air, listing from side to side, unsure of its direction or his expertise. His mind saw it turning to the right. It did, its edge hitting the soap. He glanced at the lavender-colored bar. The sponge fell back to its tray, his power not yet strong enough to maintain it.

Head aching, he tried repeatedly, Jasmine in the corners of his mind—the circles beneath her eyes, her drowsiness, panic, words:
I want time I don’t have.

“Hey!”

Mike flinched at Ben’s voice. His head swiveled to the curtain, expecting to see the younger man.

Ben remained outside, rapping the door with his knuckles. “What are you doing in there? You going to take all night?”

How long had he been exercising his talent? Who cared? He’d managed to stack the sponges on top of each other and even moved the soap closer to the conditioner. “I’ll be out in a sec,” he shouted, then hastily shampooed and washed off. The sooner he got rid of Ben and Lily, the quicker he’d be able to continue his practice and test the cuffs.

He came out of the bath to a freshly made bed and a tray of food provided by Violet.

She averted her eyes from his chest. Unfortunately, for her, her gaze landed on the towel around his hips. Her face flushed a bright red as she talked. “You didn’t eat lunch, so I thought you wouldn’t mind the enchilada again. It’s not the same one from before. I threw that one away and got you another. It’s hot. Temperature-wise. I heated the plate in the oven, just like they do in restaurants. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Good God.” Lily rolled her eyes.

Mike thanked Violet with a nonthreatening smile. “I don’t. But I am tired.”

“Oh sure. We’ll leave.” She slung her arm around Lily’s shoulders. “Come on,” she hissed at her sister, then looked over. “Ben?”

He stopped scratching his hip with the gun’s barrel. “I’m staying.”

No fucking way. Mike frowned. “Why?”

Lily answered. “Jas might come in. He should stay.”

With Ben in here, how could he practice or even come close to opening the cuffs? “You said she took a sedative and it put her to sleep. If you’re worried she’s going to wake up, stay in the hall and come in if she does.”

Ben shook his head. “If I fall asleep, she might get by me and lock the door in here.” He crossed the room, sank to the floor and rested his back against the wall. “No way will it matter if I’m already inside.” Down for the night, he waved the pistol’s barrel at the bed. “Go on and enjoy your dinner. Sleep as long as you want. I won’t disturb you. Lil, can you get the handcuff key?”

She bounced it in her palm. “Aren’t you going to make certain he locks the cuff after he puts it on?”

Ben frowned. “You’re closer.”

To stop their coming spat, Mike snapped the cuff around his wrist and spoke to Lily.

“Are you going to check it out or not?”

“Turn away. Don’t look at me.”

“Why? We may not get along, but I can’t set you on fire with my eyes.”

Violet laughed shrilly. “You’ll have to forgive her, she’s a bit high-strung.” She glared at her sister. “I’ll check it out.”

Lily kept the frying pan raised, ready to conk him if he moved. Violet regarded the raw skin on his wrist. “Let me get some antiseptic for that and a bandage.”

“It’s fine,” he assured, wanting to get rid of her and Lily. “I’m tired. I’d just like to sleep.”

Shame filled her eyes. Steering clear of the scraped spot, she pressed the cuff together and tried to pull it apart. “It’s good,” she sighed to the room in general. “Sorry,” she whispered to him and followed her sister into the hall.

Mike tried to predict how long it would be before Ben fell asleep. A couple of hours? He suppressed a sigh. His gaze skipped from the enchilada to the Corona. Although he wanted to gulp the brew, he bypassed it to nibble on his meal, eating just enough to quiet his grumbling belly, not enough to make him groggy.

This was going to be one long night. Thankfully, Jasmine had found a bit of peace.

Chapter Eleven

She lay on her side, teeth sunk into the pillow. The sedative hadn’t worked. Nothing would.

The curse no longer slithered through her. It slammed, attacking viciously, screaming in her mind. Go to him. Kiss him. Fuck him. Don’t let him leave. Kill him if he tries.

Shaking, she drew her arms and legs closer. Her body rocked, its movements synchronized with the loud chirping of crickets. For hours, she’d listened to them and her sisters moving through the rooms, periodically checking on her. She’d managed to keep her eyes closed and to lay motionless, convincing both the pills had done their job.

Outside of the insects and other familiar sounds, the house was now still. Violet and Lily had to be asleep. They wouldn’t know if she got up. No one would stop her from making certain Mike never left.

Hands fisted, she fought her insane thoughts. They badgered and grew. She pushed to a sitting position, ready to swing her legs over the side of the mattress. It shook as she trembled, struggling not to give in. Falling back, she put her hand between her legs, forefinger on her clit, her will forcing her to outwit the curse by masturbating. To indulge in a decadent fantasy about Mike taking her.

It took several tries, her temples hurt from the effort, but at last she envisioned him in the club, his expression negligent as she approached from the other side of the dance floor. Couples scattered like pigeons, creating an opened space for her to walk through. She paused at the end of the wood, standing in the emptiness, the overhead bulbs raining turquoise light on her face, shoulders and arms.

Confident, he appraised her scandalous dress, the halter top so brief the cloth covered only her nipples. His voice ordered, “Take it off.”

Female murmurs spread through the crowd. Male wolf whistles stifled them.

She couldn’t refuse or run. The others surrounded her, pressing close, cutting off escape. Lightheaded, she unfastened her halter top. The ends cascaded to her waist, presenting her bared breasts. Men pushed into each other to get a better view. Many smiled. A flash of heat burned her skin. Icy air poured from the ceiling, cooling it and puckering her nipples so they’d fit Mike’s mouth.

Indolently, he stared. “Touch them.”

Cradled by her palms, her breasts tilted upward, displayed for too many male eyes. Embarrassed, she slid her fingers over them, attempting to cover her nudity.

Mike glanced over, his voice displeased. “Strip her.”

From behind, Ben lowered her zipper, pushing the dress past her hips. His hands loitered on them and her bare ass, bringing more fire to her face and throat and another gush of moisture from her cleft.

Mike rose from the stool, his strides loose, unhurried, knowing she couldn’t retreat. “Look at me.”

Lost in his eyes, she waited for his next command.

He cupped her smooth mound, his fingers stroking her glutted folds, not yet ready to tease her clit. “Spread your legs.”

Her buttocks tensed. The men in the audience pointed it out, accusing her of defiance.

“Now,” Mike ordered.

Flushed and unsteady, she obeyed.

His hand slipped lower. Three fingers cleaved her vaginal lips to enter her tight, heated passage.

Her mouth opened on a soundless cry at the thick intrusion, its bulk stretching her mercilessly.

He offered no comfort or relief, merely more of the same, burying his fingers within her until the pads at the base touched her moist lips. “Squeeze your muscles around me, so tight I can’t get free.”

Her pussy clenched as he demanded, increasing the strain of containing him.

His thumb moved to her clit, glancing over it. Jasmine’s hands flew to her mouth to muffle her stunned cry.

Displeased, Mike snapped, “Hold her arms behind her back.”

One of the men came forward to help. Ben stepped in front of him. Fingers curled around her wrists, he brought her arms down and around, holding them in his unforgiving grasp.

Exposed and helpless, Jasmine lifted her face to Mike’s. His eyes bored into hers as he thumbed her nub. A shock of pleasure ripped through her. Heels leaving the floor, she went to her toes.

It didn’t sway him. He refused to rush. Restless whispers rose from the crowd. The men demanded more.

Eyes glazed with passion, Jasmine fought for each breath. Mike stole it with his tongue and harsh kiss while he rubbed her clit quickly, unendingly.

Her cry of satisfaction had barely left her throat when he pulled his fingers from her and licked them.

The men cheered. The women whispered.

“Bend over the stool,” Mike said. His deep voice cut through the club, commanding and unappeased.

Still breathing hard, she grasped the sides of the wooden seat. Her body trembled so badly the legs scraped the floor. Ben’s hand went to the small of her back, steadying her. He ground his palm into her spine, forcing it lower so her buttocks would rise, giving Mike easy entrance into her passages.

Again, the crowd gathered in tight knots to watch.

Her pussy throbbed. She heard Mike’s belt buckle tapping his jeans’ metal stud. His zipper rasped. Male musk subdued every other scent. Cock poised at her opening, he plowed inside on her moan and the newest cheers of their audience.

Jasmine rubbed her tiny knob quicker than Ben had. Groans convulsed her throat with an orgasm too tame to last. The curse persisted, demanding she listen.

Go to him before he leaves. Kill him when he tries.

For an unwanted roommate, Ben was about as good as Mike could have hoped for. The younger man hadn’t made small talk, getting right to the point. In a surprisingly discouraged voice, he’d asked if he and the sisters were in deep denial, hoping to save Jasmine when it wasn’t possible. Mike told Ben they’d find Desiree. No way would he accept defeat. He’d wring the bitch’s neck if she didn’t cooperate and lift the curse to release Jasmine.

“You have to find her first,” the boy said.

He had to get free without Ben seeing. Hours passed before the younger man drifted off. Currently, Ben’s head and torso leaned to the left. His legs stretched straight ahead, his limp hand propping the Glock’s barrel on his right knee.

The cuff hit Mike’s wrist bone, metal jerking, attempting to part. It didn’t. Sweat rolled down his neck, shoulders and chest. The backs of his eyes pounded. He tried again and failed, cursing his gift, cajoling it. Nothing worked.

Until Tommy, he’d never had to call on his power for a critical situation. Repeatedly, Erica had advised him to hone his skill as much as possible. She’d said he’d never know when it might save someone’s life.

It took Tommy’s instead. Did guilt still screw up his concentration? Did fear? Could he be trying too hard, expecting perfection, hoping for precision? How could he settle for anything less? He required a deft touch to open the lock or brute force to tear the metal apart. Even when he got free, he still had Ben and his Glock to consider. If he couldn’t will the weapon from the boy’s hand and keep him trapped with his power, ditching the cuff wasn’t going to solve anything.

Come on, do what I want! He glared at the metal. It shivered and creaked. Excited by the sound, he spun the cuff as far as possible, studying the area where the two halves came together. Moonlight showed they hadn’t budged. Were the rings between the restraints separating? Had they made the creaking noise? He examined them, not seeing any difference. The damn thing wasn’t even moving any longer.

Creak. Creak. Creak
.

Mike’s head swung to Ben. Still asleep. So where in the hell did the creaking noise come from? The bath? No. Water dripped steadily from the faucet, producing that room’s only contribution to the night’s mellow din. The wall to his left popped. Wind swelled and died down. Branches stopped slapping the panes.

He heard another creak, followed by a snap. Metal? Wood?

Jasmine? The knob to the bedroom door turned, its crystal glimmering in the silvered light. The wood shivered slightly as it separated from the jamb and crept open.

Apprehension crawled from Mike’s belly to his throat. Why did the door move so slowly? Was it Lily or Violet on the other side? Were they checking on him and Ben? Or did they have something terrible to relate?

The door inched a bit farther.

His heart pounded into his ribs. Nude, Jasmine slipped inside. The thin light wandered her body’s luxurious curves, defining her erect nipples, the fleshy slit between her legs. He swallowed. She stilled upon seeing Ben.

Mike expected her to recover and come to him. She did not. Stepping lightly, she went to Ben’s side, her gaze lowered to the pistol.

What’s she doing?
Mike leaned forward. She reached for the gun. Why? Did she plan to put it in another room? Give it to him? No. Her hand stopped short of the barrel, her fingers wobbling as if she were fighting not to take it. He waited for her to move away. She remained in her uncomfortable position, hand still outstretched to his Glock. He counted off the seconds. One. Two. Three. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Her arm shook. A dog barked nearby. She jerked back her hand.

Mike remembered to breathe. She straightened and came to him. Tear tracks glistened on her face. Her eyes were huge, wet, new tears collecting on her lashes.