Unleashing the Storm (25 page)

He’d
just come out of a hot bath, had planned on putting himself to bed, where he
knew he’d just toss and turn, when he heard the urgent knocking on his front
door.

He
rarely had visitors. His house was ten miles away from the main ACRO compound,
up a winding hill so he had a full view of the valley below him. His closest
neighbors were miles and miles away, his house was shrouded in full green
foliage now that the last bits of snow had finally melted. But even though the
day was sunny and warm outside, he’d still had to turn on the heat. And he’d
lit a fire as well.

He’d
checked his temperature in the hopes that he simply had the flu, but it
remained normal.

The
pounding was getting more persistent, as if someone was actually getting ready
to knock down the door. Which was a lot like something Oz would do.

But
when he finally answered the door, he found Annika there instead. And he had no
doubt
she
would have kicked the door down.

She
stared up at him, still on the threshold of the porch, as if stepping over that
invisible line would be crossing into dangerous territory.

They
hadn’t spoken or seen each other since he’d walked out of the bar Tuesday
night, and she was still royally pissed. But she didn’t start right in on him,
was actually restrained—it had to be because he didn’t look well. On glancing
in the mirror, his normally golden skin had been pale and there were circles
under his eyes.

“Are
you all right?” she asked.

“I’m
better now,” he said, and that was the truth. “Come on in.”

She
hesitated, then put a foot, clad in spring sandals and showing off prettily
painted toenails—his favorite color, Vixen, a cross between black and
purple—onto the hardwood floor in his foyer.

He
didn’t push it, turned and headed back into his living room. After a minute, he
heard her close the door and her firm footsteps echoed on the floor as she
crossed into the main part of his house to see him.

He’d
sunk into the couch, a fresh chill washing over him.

“You’re
not all right, because people who are all right don’t have a roaring fire when
it’s seventy degrees outside,” she said. She put a warm hand on his forehead
and frowned. “You’re cool.”

“I’m
not sick.” He paused, looked her over for any fresh bruises or scrapes and saw
nothing. “How was your assignment?”

“Mission
complete, as always.”

“Good
for you.”

“I’ve
heard you were on a mission too,” she said, and he knew she was lying. She was
on a hunt for information, probably wanted to know more about Dev than him and
he felt the anger rise inside of him. That, at least, warmed him briefly.

“You
heard correctly.”

“With
Dev?” she asked, and he didn’t answer. Kat had skittered out long before Annika
arrived—sulking because Creed resisted her touch as well.

“Tell
me what’s going on,” she demanded.

“I
can’t.”

“You’re
still mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Not
everything is about you, Annika.”

“I
know that—and I don’t need a lecture from you too. But you walked out on me the
other night, so I have a right to be pissed at you.”

“Getting
you pissed off is the only way to get you to come to my house? Who knew?” he
muttered, pulled the blanket tighter around him and wondered if another bath
would help.

“Something’s
wrong with you. I want to know where you were and what happened to make you
feel like this.”

“Are
you checking up on me now? Because I didn’t think you really gave a shit about
anyone but yourself. And Dev.”

Another
cheap shot, and her eyes glittered with anger. As much as he wanted to tell her
that, yes, he thought her precious Dev was in trouble, he’d been sworn to
secrecy. His body still tingled with an unpleasant zing whenever he thought
about the spirit’s unwanted touch.

He
hadn’t told Dev just how violated he’d felt. This had been the second time the
ghost had attempted to hold him down and touch him—the first time, back in
September at the mansion, Kat had arrived just in time.

At
Dev’s, the spirit had been too strong even for Kat to do much. The only reason
the spirit stopped when it did was because it really wanted Dev, and no
substitute would do.

“I do
give a shit, Creed. Or else I wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re
here because you want an orgasm,” he said before he could stop himself, and
fuck, that wasn’t like him at all.

He
knew Annika was younger than most women her age, less experienced socially
because of her upbringing. She’d been a trained killer for the CIA, hadn’t been
on dates or to the prom, and he had no right to try to corner her. “Shit, Ani,
I didn’t mean that. I just…I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Still,
even now, when she reached out to touch his arm, he shrank back slightly,
hating himself for that reaction.

“So,
what? You’re so pissed at me I can’t even touch you?”

“That’s
not it,” he said, but she’d already started to walk out of his house. “Annika,
wait.” He moved off the couch, losing his blanket as he grabbed her arm. She
swung around and clocked him in the jaw, an automatic response to the threat of
capture.

He
didn’t let go of her arm, even though her left hook was nothing short of
amazing. She’d connected with his right cheekbone, and despite the fact that
her touch had been a hit, his right side began to tingle in that good way he’d
been missing.

“Fuck
you,” she spat, and then stopped and stared. Because he’d been naked under the
blanket and her eyes were drawn down between his legs. He was a big man all
around, but that wasn’t what held her interest. No, she was drawn to the
tattoos that covered his right ball and half his cock, loved to get between his
legs and spend time tracing the pattern with her tongue, and Christ, he wanted
her there right now.

“Put
your mouth on me,” he said, and he saw the resistance in her eyes even as she
licked her lips. He put a slight pressure on her arm as he spoke again. “Now,
Annika. I want you on your knees in front of me. And don’t lie to me—I know you
want it too.”

Her
lips parted, her nostrils flared and she sank to her knees slowly. He braced
himself for her touch, prayed that he was going to be able to handle it. He
wanted Annika to wipe that spirit’s touch from him.

She
dug her fingers into his hips, licked the tip of his cock and then took him
deep into her mouth. He realized he’d been holding his breath when he heard his
own long, low groan, and he let his eyes close as she continued to heal him
with her talented, warm lips and tongue.

When
she grazed her teeth lightly over the ridge at the head of his cock, his right
side began to switch temperatures, varying between freezing and hotter than
hell. He put his hands on her shoulders, not sure if he could steady himself
like that.

But
Annika had stopped, was staring at him again. “Has this ever happened before?”
she asked, and he was about to answer no, when he realized she wasn’t talking
about the temperature shifts.

A
glance down at his chest and leg revealed that his tattoos seemed to be
morphing, nearly moving across his skin, as if the pattern was trying to tell
him something.

Annika
got to her feet, held his six-foot-five frame steady. “What’s wrong? Please,
Creed, tell me.”

His
mouth was dry, his throat tight, and all he could do was let her support him.
“Just take me to bed, baby. Please just fuck me and don’t ask me any more
questions tonight,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She
didn’t hesitate, tugged at him wordlessly until he followed her up the stairs
to the loft area that was the entire second floor. Open and airy, with windows
overlooking the valley all around and a large, king-sized bed in the middle of
the room, it was one of Creed’s favorite places to be.

“Too
much light,” he murmured, and after Annika helped him onto the bed, she found
the controls for the curtains and quickly sheathed the room in darkness,
rolling down the blackout shades.

He
heard her stripping—normally, he’d tell her to slow down so he could enjoy
every single reveal of her toned, curvy body. But now, in the total darkness,
all he wanted was her warm flesh on his, and he hoped her electric current was
set to high.

“Ani,
hurry,” he heard himself say.

She
crawled onto him, her breasts pressed against his chest, his arousal pressing
her belly. “I’m here, Creed.”

“Cold.
I’m so cold. Can you shock me?”

“You
know that doesn’t work…”

“Try
it,” he insisted.

But
she ignored him in favor of sliding his cock inside of her, where it was hot
and wet and it hit him better than any jolt of electricity. Both of them
groaned loudly, as she took him to the hilt, his hips came up off the bed and
his right side began to warm again, finally.

“Oh,
my God—Creed, I can’t wait,” she cried out, but he was already ahead of her.
His balls tightened, his cock throbbed and he released inside of her, clutching
at the sheets as the orgasm rolled through his entire body.

He
was vaguely aware that she’d come too—hard, her sex milking him dry. But he
soon realized that it was as if the electricity he’d felt when he entered her
was not going to let either of them off the hook so easily. Because he remained
rock hard and she appeared to be in the middle of some kind of amazing,
multiple orgasm.

“SO…GOOD,”
SHE GROANED. “Oh, God…yes.”

“Harder.
Ride me harder.”

The
sound of his voice heightened the climax, her fifth, sixth…she didn’t know.
She’d lost count. Creed always made her lose count.

His
hands cupped her breasts, and his thumbs rasped over her nipples, which had
grown more sensitive since she’d met Creed than they’d been in her entire life.
Spasms took her, breakers on top of breakers, and as the waves of ecstasy
melted away, Creed thrust upward so fiercely she screamed with the force of it.

“I
love when you scream for me.” He arched into her again, his cock driving deep
and stretching her wide at its thick root, its steely hardness hitting all the
right places. “Only me.”

Yeah,
but was she the only woman who screamed for him? She didn’t know if he was
celibate while she was off on missions.

She
didn’t expect it, didn’t ask for it, but he’d better not make the mistake of
letting her come face-to-face with one of the biker-babe skanks she’d seen him
with in the past.

Not
that she was jealous. Like she’d told Dev, this was just sex.

And
what great sex it was. She smiled and ran her hands over the ripples in his abs
and then up, to his chest, which still ran hot on one side and cooler on the
other. The tattoos seemed to move beneath her palms, living things that shifted
just under the skin, though she swore at times she could feel an outline.
Testing, she sent a small shock into the tattooed side of his body, and that
made them writhe more, angry.

Still
impaled on Creed’s shaft, she flicked on the nightstand lamp and watched the
designs on his chest, neck and face morph from Native American symbols to
faces. Creepy faces with jagged teeth, and narrowed eyes that seemed to look
straight at her. If they thought they could scare her…she sent a shock into one
of them, and it silently screamed as though in agony before shifting back to
the original design.

“What
did you do?” he breathed.

“A
little shock.”

Throwing
back his head so the tendons in his neck strained, he closed his eyes. “Not…a
good idea.”

“You
said—”

“I
was wrong.”

His
hand slid up her back to her scalp, and he brought her mouth to his. Slipping
his tongue between her lips, he clicked his piercing against her teeth so it
sent a rare shock sizzling through her bones. Nothing shocked her, not in the
electrical sense, but sometimes Creed’s body jewelry acted as a conduit between
them—he often said that if one of his piercings touched her when she climaxed,
he felt her release.

Which
explained why his favorite way to make her come was with his tongue, and she
wasn’t about to complain.

In a
fluid move she’d not believed a body as big as his could master, he rolled her,
pinned her to the bed as he plunged deep. He could be rough sometimes, because
she enjoyed it, but this was different. Urgent.

Creed
grunted and slammed into her, shoving her a few inches up the bed, so her hair
brushed the headboard. Every stroke brought her closer to another peak, every
one of his panting breaths made blood roar in her ears. She loved the sounds he
made, so primal, so raw.

He
increased his pace, something she hadn’t thought was possible. She clung to
him, gripped his shoulders so hard she was sure she’d leave marks. He rode her
like his life depended on it, and when he hissed, “I need you to touch me,” she
wasn’t sure what he wanted.