Wings of Fire (14 page)

But how did this man, this
fantasy of maleness,
fit into her change of heart? She just didn’t know. The thought of being with him in a real sense, not a fantasy, frightened her—and not because he was powerful. What frightened her was how vulnerable she felt when she was with him, as though the real power he had over her was that he could hold her heart in his hand and crush it, something she had not allowed from anyone since her fiancé had walked out on her. She had kept her heart close and safe in the same way she’d kept her friends at a distance.

She had learned from an early age to live a life of independence.

But now she was here, in Antony’s shower, with his arms wrapped around her holding her up. From the moment she had first seen him, she’d wanted to kiss him, to press her lips to his beautiful mouth, to see what it would be like to be connected in that very simple way to this powerful warrior.

He looked down at her now, his arms tense behind her back, his nostrils flaring, but he seemed frozen. Perhaps he sensed her reticence, or maybe he was just being considerate after all she’d been through.

So she moved. She slid her arm up and around his neck, his thick, muscled warrior neck. His hair was trapped in the
cadroen.
She leaned up on tiptoes. She drew very close to his face. He searched her eyes.

“So beautiful” came as a soft murmur, a gentle waterfall from his lips.

She pressed her mouth to his, just so, not hard, not gentle, a first meeting, an invitation, a decision.

He trembled. She felt it all down his body, in every place he was connected to her.

He moaned and his body moved serpent-like, a fluid motion of sensation. His arms traveled around her even more, gathering her close. She drifted her mouth from side to side, and his lips parted. She kept drifting until she took his breath into her body and all that sage traveled into her lungs.

His scent rose inside up and up, then penetrated her brain. She weaved on her feet.

One of his arms left her back, and he shut off the water. “Will you come to my bed?”

The decision was already made. She couldn’t deny the man who had saved her life, who had saved her sanity during a period of incarceration, who smelled of heaven and earth blended into one.

She nodded.

He backed out of the shower, still holding her close. Was he afraid she would vanish from his arms? But then why wouldn’t he be? She had done that already when Rith took her from his villa. He had told her of his fears. He had told her during those wicked moments of self-pleasure when he knew she was close but couldn’t hear her.

Antony,
she sent now.

He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, never losing eye contact or physical connection.
I hear you.

Can you hear all my words now? Can you hear every thought I send? Tell me in a way that I can understand.

He smiled, and the tenderness in his eyes and in the curve of his lips made something deep within her chest begin to burn with life. “I can hear every thought you send, Parisa.”

She sent,
Every damn fucking horrible thought?
She dared him to hear her and to repeat her words.

The curve became a smile, a grin, a promise of the future. “Yes. Every damn fucking horrible thought. But Parisa, what happened? How did you suddenly find your telepathic voice? It seemed like a miracle. But how?”

She threw her arms around his neck and held him close. “I don’t want to talk about it, not yet. Oh, Antony, you came for me. You came for me.”

“Of course I did.” The towel fell to the floor as he enveloped her in his powerful arms and pulled her against him.

She almost couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. She had been breathing and alone for the past three months. Let him suffocate her with his nearness, with his embrace, with his musky sage scent.

She turned her face into him. Leaning up on tiptoes, she licked his skin right below his ear. He tasted like something she should eat. She bit and nibbled and he held her tight. He lifted her off her feet and waggled her legs in the air. He turned her in a circle.

“There is something I must know,” he said. He set her down and looked into her eyes. All the sudden joy had left his face.

“No,” she said, understanding the question before he spoke the words. “He did not touch me. No one touched me. I am unharmed in that way.” Because she saw the doubt in his eyes, she added, “Rith did not violate me, nor did any of his people.”

“You were never harmed,” he stated.

He stared into her eyes. She knew she could withhold nothing from him. That would be an unforgivable cruelty in her opinion.

“Tell me what your eyes are saying,” he said. “Speak the words.”

“Rith
disciplined
me into obedience. He invaded my mind when I displeased him. It hurt. Badly. I learned very quickly to do as I was told and to follow the schedule. Rith was very big on schedules.”

His jaw worked until it became a tremor. He began to shake until he had to release her. His hands formed fists and he lifted his head and released a cry to the ceiling. He cried out again and again. The cries became howls until the mirror shattered and fell straight down onto the black marble sink.

Only then, as the glass fell, did the anguish seem to expel from his body.

She moved toward him. His eyes were glazed, sunken, his cheeks gaunt. He needed time to heal as much as she did.

She put her hands on his chest. She rubbed his skin and let her fingers drift over the fine black hair between his pecs, something she had wanted to do for so long. She bent her head and began to kiss the round, fierce strength of his muscles. She licked and kissed and stroked. She lowered her cheek and rubbed her face against his chest. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders.

His body grew stiff and unyielding. “I failed you,” he said. His voice had a dead quality. He had retreated someplace very dark.

She dipped lower and ran her tongue over his nipple. Then she bit him. Hard.

He pulled back and cried out. A heavy scowl rode his face, pulling down. “What was that for?”

“Apparently, you think you need to be punished for not being all-powerful. So I punished you.”

A half laugh broke from his throat, but he shook his head. “You don’t know what it was like.”

“And you don’t know what it was like for me. I survived without going mad because I could turn to you day or night and see you, voyeur you. And every night when I went to bed, we’d make love even though we couldn’t touch. I’m alive, my mind is functioning, because of you.”

“If I hadn’t been lax that day … I allowed you to wander too far away from me. I had my back to you while I talked to Thorne. I was foolish. If it had been anyone other than Rith, you could have been raped, or worse.”

His eyes grew distant once more. Instinctively, she knew that he wasn’t just thinking about her and his failure to keep her safe on his property. But wherever he had gone pissed her off. She had no intention of letting his memories affect this moment, or her gratitude, or her desire.

She stepped back from him. Using both hands, she cupped her breasts and rubbed her thumbs in slow circles over her nipples.

He blinked and frowned. “What are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing. But you didn’t get to watch me. I was the voyeur. I saw your long fingers work your cock but you couldn’t see me. I want you to watch this time. I want you to see what I did to myself. It’s only fair.”

He drew in a long deep breath. His gaze fell to her breasts and her thumbs. A heavy wave of sage rolled over her; she had to step back to keep her balance. She smiled.

“Tangerine,” he murmured.

“I know that’s what you smell, Antony, when I’m near. You suck the tangerines, because that’s what I would taste like in your mouth, that’s why you plunge your tongue inside while you come. Tell me I’m right.”

“Yes.” He blinked several times. “Don’t do this. We should talk, figure everything else out. This … this can’t be wise.”

She moved one of her hands slowly down her belly and used a finger to rim her belly button. “I want your tongue here.”

He groaned. Good.

She moved her hand lower, descending, now sifting her fingers through her dark triangle of hair. She spread her legs and another groan flowed from him.

He tracked the movement, breathing hard. The smell of sage was so thick in the air that she could taste it on her tongue.

She leaned forward just a little, slid her finger lower, and dipped it into the core of her body. “This is what I did, Antony. I pretended this was you, sometimes your cock, sometimes your finger, sometimes your mouth.” She closed her eyes and moaned.

When she heard a growl, she opened her eyes, but he hadn’t moved. She spread her legs a little more and kept working her finger in and out. She was enjoying the sensation—but what turned her on more was the look that slowly reworked his face. His eyes darkened. His nostrils flared as he sucked in air hard. His fangs emerged.

Oh, God, his fangs. Her neck throbbed with need in direct response to the muscles of her core. She licked her lips.

Pleasure now flowed through her and intensified. She was so wet. “Antony,” she whispered. Her gaze skated over his broad shoulders, the sculpted muscles of his pecs, his abs, the lines leading to his groin, the heavy strength of his thighs. She was breathing so hard just looking at him. But when a growl filled the space between them, an orgasm swept over her with such force that she staggered as she cried out.

He moved to her in a blur, caught her, dragged her against him. He kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. His hips drew back and she watched the kilt and briefs disappear, folded somewhere. He was suddenly naked. Just what she wanted.

She couldn’t look anywhere but at the size of his cock, at the veins thick and doing what they did best. She still couldn’t breathe. He picked her up. With a wave of his hand, all the glass shards drifted to the far corner of the sink, a sound like rain. He drew a towel from the rack by the shower and set it down. He planted her bottom on the towel then pushed her legs apart and moved his hips between.

She settled her hands on his shoulders. Her mind had turned to mush. “Do it, Antony,” she whispered. “I need you.” Damn, she felt ready to cry for no reason, but she had wanted this for such a long time.

He held his cock in his hand and breathed hard, his chest expanding with each breath. Her hips rocked. She reached down and touched him. He groaned and flinched.

“Shit,” he murmured.

He was holding back. She thought she understood why but she didn’t care. Right now, he belonged to her. She didn’t care what happened afterward.

She scooted to the edge of the counter, using his shoulder to keep her balance. Sliding her legs around his hips, she rocked her pelvis forward, took his cock in her hand, and guided him to her opening. She made little grunts between pants and cries. “Do it,” she cried.

He shuddered and began to press into her. He moaned as inch by inch he made his way into her body. He was so damn big and she hadn’t been used in a long time but it was wonderful.

“You feel so good,” she cried.

“I don’t want to hurt you but … aw, hell.” He grabbed her buttocks with one hand and shoved into her … hard.

She cried out. Maybe it hurt a little; she couldn’t tell.

“God, you’re so wet.”

“What else would I be?”

His mouth landed on her neck, and he began to suck at her skin. She started maneuvering his lips. She knew what she wanted, where she wanted his mouth. She bent her neck sideways, and when his lips landed over her vein she cried out.

His hips surged forward then pulled back. Her body shed fluid. He glided, stroked, pushed and pulled. Heaven.

His tongue rasped over her vein now, long smooth glides. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes. Yes.” She panted, she moaned, she thrust her hips into his as he surged forward. “Take my vein.” The words were a hushed command from between dry lips. “Oh, God. Please, please.”

“Parisa” tumbled from his mouth. “I want to stop, but I can’t. I feel I should give you time, but I can’t. God help me.” Her neck was wet as he struck. The flash of pain went straight to her core and tightened her as pleasure followed and began to build.

Her cries now filled the steamy bathroom. His hips thrust as he began to draw her blood into his mouth. He groaned low and deep in his throat, a rumbling sound that could have been a growl, the sound of a beast taking what was his.

The smell of him rose and thickened in her nostrils. The orgasm rolled down on her hard and she screamed and cried out. He continued to pump, fast now, grunting. His body moved in a slow wave as he released her vein, his shoulders arching back as his hips moved forward. He shouted as he released into her, his cock thrusting and solid.

Another orgasm caught her, her core tightening around him again. It sent a shudder through his body and he groaned again as he bent forward and captured her in his arms. He drew her against him, thrusting over and over until sated.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, stroking his back, the scars a soft ripple beneath the pads of her fingers. She touched her neck with her hand where his fangs had entered her. “There’s so little blood,” she whispered.

“When the fangs retreat, they leave a chemical that seals the wound. Did I hurt you?”

She drew back and met his gaze. She ran a finger over his lips, the one that had been inside her. He sucked the finger into his mouth and licked in a swirl of sensation.
You even taste of tangerine,
he sent.

Oh, Antony. That was … amazing. You’re … amazing.

He released her finger with a sudden pop then smiled. He pushed her damp hair away from her face. “What am I going to do with you?”

She smiled back, but her heart ached. “I don’t know.” She was suddenly filled with the knowledge that difficult things separated them. Though he could enter her and please her, though he could release into her, life had delivered terrible blows through the years, through the centuries. How were they to bridge the divide?