Unleashing the Storm (32 page)

“Are
you going to keep me tied up the whole time?”

“If I
need to.”

“Asshole.”

“You
don’t have the right to be pissed at me, Kira,” he said. Warning bells bounced
inside his skull and he knew he was still skating on the damned edge. Dev knew
it too.

“You
don’t own me, Tom Knight. You can’t tell me what rights I have. So. Let. Me.
Go. And who knows, maybe I’ll find someone else to help me through the rest of
my heat.”

She
didn’t mean it—he knew that, but it still cut right through him to hear her say
it.

“So
you want someone else, then?” he asked.

“Yes.
Anyone but you.” She jerked her bound hands. “And that kills you, doesn’t it?”

“Keep
talking like that, Kira, and I swear I’ll take you over my knee.”

She
snorted, as if she didn’t believe him. And as much as he wanted to keep her
tied up, not deal with it, he remembered all too clearly how not well that had
worked days earlier.

He
leaned forward and undid her restraints quickly, then stepped aside as she
lunged.

This
time, he was ready.

He
caught her, a bundle of infuriated indignation, and he turned her over his
knee, holding her squirming body there easily enough. She wasn’t as strong as
she was a few days ago, but he didn’t think about that for too long. Because he
was pissed—at himself for caring, and at her for calling him on it.

Held
there, she still managed to turn her head to look at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Yeah,
I would. I promised you I would and I always keep my promises.”

She
gasped, more with surprise than pain as his large palm took its first whoosh
through the air and made contact with her perfect ass. But the slap was through
her BDU pants, and he wanted skin-on-skin contact.

He
didn’t bother to try to pull them down. He ripped them off greedily instead, so
he could touch her.

“You
are not in charge here, little one,” he murmured, even though he couldn’t
conceal his anger. “I am. And the sooner you learn to deal with that, the
better.”

“Fuck.
You.”

He
slapped her again and again and as his anger dissipated, so did hers. His palm
heated quickly. Her ass turned bright red and each slap took her closer to
making her his, which he wasn’t sure he wanted but still he couldn’t stop
himself. Each connection of palm to flesh made his dick harder, and she
squirmed and begged, but she wanted it. He knew because she’d started to lift
her ass to greet his steady slaps and he felt her orgasm shudder through her
body, watched her toes curl and heard the low moan in the back of her throat.

He no
longer had to hold her down to make her stay across his lap. But that didn’t
mean she wasn’t still angry.

“Who
do you want, Kira?”

She
didn’t hesitate to answer. “You, Tommy. You know that already.”

He
stood, taking her with him and flipping her onto the mattress. But she was up
within seconds, her face flushed from orgasm and humiliation and anger, and he
readied himself for another battle.

“What
do you want from me, Tommy?”

For
you to stop calling me Tommy. For you to stop giving a shit about me. For this
to all go the fuck away.
“What do I
want? I want my life back, dammit!” he roared finally.

“Which
one, Tommy? Which life do you want back?” she asked, and it was the complete
and utter wrong thing to say to him. Too logical, and it only served to anger
him more. She wasn’t the right person to take out his anger on, but she was
going to bear the brunt because she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stop talking.

He
grabbed her by the shoulders, prepared to shake her, to shut her up. He hadn’t
been prepared to kiss her, but that’s exactly what he did, a hard kiss that
sucked the air out of his lungs, one that bonded them together more than sex
ever would, and still, she was slamming her fists against his shoulders, trying
to pry herself away from him even as her tongue met his.

He
was losing it. Losing it. And instead of backing away from her, he continued
with his mouth pressed against hers in a kiss he insisted had nothing to do
with love. Because there was certainly nothing romantic about the kiss. It was
one of dominance as his mouth took her again and again—and again, Kira did not
back down.

Her
mouth held firm against his and she welcomed him—and he was dimly aware that
this was the first time he’d allowed himself to kiss her. He’d never been big
on kissing—it seemed too intimate, too messy, too full of…stars-in-your-eyes
entanglements that he didn’t think he could ever have.

Why
being with Kira had triggered this reaction inside of him was still a mystery.
He blamed the pheromones she was giving off, blamed his cock, blamed his
genetic makeup. Anything so he didn’t have to admit the truth.

He
loved Kira Donovan. And there was no room for that to happen in his life.

Her
hands held his face, letting him know that she was still fighting for
dominance. And when he ripped his mouth away, he let her know that she wasn’t
getting it.

He
took a step back and she remained kneeling on the bed. He wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand and she touched her lips with her fingers. His first instinct
was to apologize, and that made his anger return full force. His body flushed,
his cock jumped and she was climbing him again before he had a chance to think,
claiming him until his orgasm was imminent.

“I’m
sorry, Tommy. Sorry for getting you in trouble. Sorry for all of this,” she
murmured, over and over.

She’s
a job. Your job. Nothing more.

He
continued lying to himself while he spilled deep inside of her.

“KIRA?
KIRA, wake up.”

She
blinked, focused her gaze on Tom’s face, staring down at her. A quick glance at
the clock showed that nearly four hours had passed since he’d taken her, their
mutual anger fueling the frantic pace of their mating and igniting a series of
orgasms that wrung her out emotionally, leaving her level for the first time in
days.

After
sex, he’d thrown on some shorts and disappeared into what she discovered was
his exercise room. She’d showered, and then, utterly exhausted after several
days of nonstop running and sex, she crawled into his bed and crashed.

“It’s
time.”

Right.
Heat pooled in her loins at the thought of sex with him, but for some reason,
the fiery, crazy need felt dimmed, was more of a tickle in the background than
a pounding nuisance that hijacked her mind and body.

He
climbed into bed with her, and she welcomed him, but before he could mount her,
she wriggled onto her side, facing him.

“Are
you still mad at me?”

“Doesn’t
matter. It’s never mattered when you needed me.”

The
scent of his arousal stirred hers, and she clenched her thighs to ease the ache
there, but the pressure only heightened her desire. “It matters now.” She
dragged a finger from his throat to his cock. “Because we can’t keep going the
way we are. I’m sorry I’m making your life so awful.”

“We’re
not talking about this.”

“Yes,
we are, and you’re going to listen to me. I’m sorry I turned your life upside
down. I’m sorry I got you into trouble at work. I’m so grateful for what you
did…but you didn’t have to take me from ACRO. It was your choice, and if you’re
going to keep punishing me for it, you can take me back there right now.”

She’d
started to stroke his shaft, but she froze as she waited for his response. She
didn’t want to go back, but if he didn’t feel that keeping her was his choice,
he’d forever have an excuse to be angry with her, to shut her out.

The
tic of a muscle in his jaw revealed his frustration—with her or with himself,
she didn’t know. What she did know was that she had better start acting
desperate for sex, because something strange was going on with her body, and
she didn’t want him thinking she didn’t need him anymore.

Slowly,
she dragged her foot up his leg and hooked it around his thigh so she could
pull herself closer, close enough that his erection slid against the seam of
her sex. He hissed through clenched teeth, and then she had her answer, because
suddenly, he was between her legs, his tongue fully engaged, his lips sucking
on her clit, his fingers buried deep inside her.

She
groaned, grasped his hair to hold him there because nothing had ever felt so
good as Tommy when he was pleasuring her like this. The flat of his tongue
stroked upward from her core, then hovered at the top of her cleft, where he
pushed the tip into the little hood there. His breath was a hot wash, his
fingers magic as three of them filled her.

“Incredible,”
she whispered, and arched off the bed. He palmed her pelvis, eased her back
down and into his mouth.

Ecstasy
stole her breaths, her thoughts, her sense of decorum, because she was pumping
her sex against his mouth, fucking his hand and tongue and screaming in
release.

“Tom,”
she gasped. “Come up here. Take me. Now.”

Taking
an agonizing amount of time, he kissed her inner thigh and then slowly worked
his way up. “Why?” he murmured against her navel. “Because you need me?”

“No.
Because I want you.”

His head
snapped up, and he fixed her with a hot, probing stare. For a moment, she
thought she’d made a grave mistake. But then his mouth was on hers, his kiss
urgent and demanding. His cock nudged the entrance to her sex, and she tilted
her hips, took him inside where she needed him to be. Needed and wanted, and it
didn’t matter that she was just a job to him. All that mattered was that she
felt safe and, for the moment, cared for.

After
three days of faking it, Kira knew her heat was over and wasn’t coming back.

Maybe
the stress of what had taken place at the training facility had ended it early.
Or maybe because a single man had serviced her for this long, her body no
longer thirsted for something it got from the same male on a regular basis. Whatever
it was, the end had become both a blessing and a curse.

Tom
had brought her home until her heat ended, and then he planned to take her back
to his agency, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey if he had to.

That
wasn’t going to happen.

Tom
didn’t want her; he’d made that perfectly clear. But she wasn’t ready to give
him up.

Her
needs had diminished, but her desire for him hadn’t. If anything, she wanted
him even more, and if she had to fake three more weeks of fever in order to
stay with him, she would. She craved not just sex, but his nonsexual touches,
his embraces, his voice. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him.

Sometimes
he didn’t mind, or at least he humored her convincingly enough when she
snuggled next to him on the couch while he watched that obnoxious O’Reilly guy.
Or when she wrapped herself around him while he washed dishes after she cooked
vegan meals he actually ate—something that gave her hope for a relationship,
since diet was a deal-breaker for her.

Other
times, especially when she asked personal questions, he got grumpy, would pull
away, withdraw to another room.

She
wished he had a pet, because at least then when Tom went all moody-silent,
she’d have someone to keep her company.

She
also wished he’d open up more, maybe answer when she asked him about the
nightmares that woke him up at night, or when she asked about the things in his
house. Things like the set of oriental swords on his wall or the beautiful
Egyptian tiled box on his dresser.

His
collection of books had been a revelation; he hadn’t struck her as someone who
liked Shakespeare. She’d expected an assortment of military titles, and though
he owned enough of those, his Shakespearean literature took up the most
prominent shelf spaces.

His
house was huge, bigger than she’d have expected and very open. The number and
size of windows had amazed her, given his aversion to exposure…until she
figured out that the glass was not only tinted on the outside, but bulletproof.
A wraparound deck circled the entire house, accessible from two of the four
bedrooms, the living room and the dining room. His security system looked like
something any museum would envy, and his arsenal of weapons she’d accidentally
stumbled upon in the basement could have outfitted a small country.