Reckless Road

by Christine Feehan

  She sobbed through her first insane orgasm, spiraling out of control. She’d forgotten that, the power he could generate in her body. The waves that kept coming and coming when his mouth and tongue didn’t stop. He added his fingers, stroking. Pushing deep. Sliding between her cheeks. Claiming every part of her for his own. Sending a second wave even more powerful than the first so that she was shattered and only he could save her.

  Player lifted his head and wiped his face on her thighs, his eyes blazing like blue fire. He caught her legs. “Turn over, Zyah.” It was a demand, nothing less.

  He was at the end of the bed already, and he didn’t wait for compliance. She couldn’t move, the ripples taking her over, throwing her into another realm. He caught her ankles and rolled her over so that she was on her belly. Immediately, he was on her, catching her around the waist, yanking her up on her hands and knees.

  “Player.” She wailed his name. She loved him like this. Wild. Crazy. How many times had they been like this that first night?

  He put his hand between her shoulder blades and she went down to her elbows.

  “Bog, I love your ass.” His hands shaped her cheeks. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Zyah. There isn’t a single spot on you that isn’t gorgeous.”

  She felt the slide of his hair on her bottom and then his mouth, his tongue. She couldn’t help tightening her muscles. His hand smacked her hard. “That’s for trying to get yourself off instead of waiting for me.” He smacked her again. “And that’s for making me wait to taste you when you knew I had to be starving for you.”

  Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. She pushed back into him. “Player. Give me your cock.”

  “You don’t deserve it yet.” He bit her. Hard. He ignored her yelp and repeated the action on her other cheek. Then he lapped at her entrance, pushing her legs wider apart, his tongue trailing the mixture of hot cream up into the seam between her cheeks.

  “Hold still for me, and I might decide you deserve my cock after all.”

  His fingers pushed into her slit and his thumb found the little forbidden star. He used both, watching his fingers disappear into her body while she cried out and nearly ground her forehead into the mattress. Player withdrew his fingers with a curse. She waited, breathing hard, hearing the tear of foil. Where had he gotten a condom? Without any warning, he slammed his heavy, thick cock into her body.

  Zyah had come three times, and she was extremely slick. It was the only reason she was able to take the thick invasion as he wrapped his arm around her waist and began pounding into her. Over and over. Feral. Wild. That was Player. Nothing in her life had ever felt so good. Nothing. It was Player. It was always going to be Player. He was like a machine, the friction and scorching heat so intense she thought she might die.

  Her lungs labored. There was no air. Breath didn’t come. She grew dizzy, but he didn’t stop. His arm was like a steel band. His cock a steel hammer. She never wanted him to stop. She needed him to, but she didn’t want him to. Tension coiled and coiled, winding tighter and tighter. She pushed back helplessly into him, every bit as ferocious as he was. Needing his body just like this.

  His hands transferred to her hips, and he was yanking her into him and shoving her away from him, pushing and pulling. It was a kind of madness. A kind of ecstasy. The fire was inside of her, burning through her body in such a brilliant, perfect way. The flames were outside her body, licking over her skin like a thousand hot tongues. He suddenly caught her hair in his hand and jerked her head back, forcing her back to arch, changing the angle of his penetration.

  She muffled her cry as her body reacted, clamping down like a vise on his cock, surrounding all the white-hot steel with a silken fist. The waves crashing through her were powerful, a series of tsunamis threatening to overtake her and drive her out of her mind. Her entire body shuddered with pleasure. Every cell, every nerve ending, was so acutely aware of him, so connected and wrapped up with his body, that she felt not only her own crashing orgasm tearing through her but his as well.

  His release was equally as powerful as hers. A hot, relentless, merciless crescendo that had his cock swelling, pushing tightly against her sensitive tissues until she felt his wild heartbeat. Every pulse through that heavy vein. Every violent jerk and blazing hot rope of seed filling the condom inside her silken channel triggering more powerful waves in her body. One orgasm rolled into another, and she went down to her belly, unable to support herself.

  Player collapsed on top of her, arms around her, his cock jerking hard in her body, still connecting them. “Bog, woman, you are destined to kill me.”

  The whispered words against her neck penetrated the bliss Zyah floated in. The notes jarred. Rocked. Hit her like a punch in the gut. She groaned. Tears burned like the flames had in his eyes. She knew those blue flames were gone. If she looked at him, his eyes would once again be that intense ice blue that would already be distancing him from her.

  Zyah kept her eyes closed, head turned away from Player’s face. She couldn’t look at him. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with both of them? Wild, dirty, crazy sex was total insanity, and not because it was addicting and heartbreaking. He would walk away unscathed. He’d already proven that. She, however, was going to be ripped to shreds. Still, they had no business acting like two wild animals when he was so injured. So okay, Steele had healed his injury. She got that. But his migraines were ferocious, and they were as bad as ever.

  She worked at finding a way to breathe even while her body still rippled with aftershocks around his. Player’s hand was in her hair, stroking caresses in that way that he had. She felt his breath on the nape of her neck. His lips moved from her neck to her shoulder. Goose bumps rose on her skin. She wore him there. She’d wear him forever. She’d feel him inside her, where she’d never get him out.

  “Baby, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Player murmured. He slid his body off of hers, taking his weight. Taking his cock. Taking himself away from her. He knotted the condom so casually.

  She swallowed her distress. She was a grown woman. She made her choices and took responsibility for them. “No, the sex was awesome, Player.” She rolled off the other side of the bed, out of his reach, and caught up the blanket that was on the floor. Zyah wrapped the blanket around her shivering body. She was insane. Absolutely insane. Only Player could make her that way.

  “Zyah, what the fuck are you doing? Come back to bed.” Player sounded shocked.

  “Absolutely not.” She made every effort to be calm. Reasonable. Matter of fact. “We shouldn’t have been having sex. You were shot four weeks ago, and I know Steele healed you, but you’re still having migraines. I should have been watching out for you. We’re definitely not doing that again.”

  “We’re definitely doing that again.” Not only did he sound amused, he sounded arrogant and smug. “And you got rid of my migraine. I think sex gets rid of them.”

  She would have kicked him if she’d been close enough, but she wasn’t that silly. She had no willpower when it came to him. She couldn’t get close again. He had every reason to be arrogant, amused and smug. “Yes, I noticed you had condoms ready and waiting.” For some reason that hurt. It shouldn’t have. She should have been happy that he cared enough to protect her. She thought he was more worried about protecting himself. He definitely distanced himself from her when it came to anything but sex.

  “I’m going to take a bath.” She didn’t dare stay in the same room with him, not when he was looking at her with those tempting blue eyes.

  She was feeling weak and vulnerable. Before he could say anything, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and walked out. Behind her, she could hear him swearing, but she didn’t turn around—she didn’t dare because tears were burning in her eyes, and she wasn’t going to let him see how much it hurt to walk away from him.

  NINE

  Zyah stood just outside the door to the living r
oom, listening to the sound of voices. Her grandmother’s laughter. She sounded young and worry free for the first time in the weeks since Zyah had been home. There was less pain in her voice. It was good to hear her sound so much more like herself. Player’s voice. Low. That tone that got to Zyah somewhere deep inside she couldn’t protect herself against. It was almost like she had some lock that kept everyone else out, but that tone penetrated like a key would, opening her up and making her very vulnerable to him.

  She’d worked every day for the last few days and come home, two members of Torpedo Ink escorting her openly. Player remained at the house recuperating, Maestro staying close or one of the others replacing him. She knew one or more club members were somewhere in the shadows watching over them as well. She was okay with that because if they were watching over Player, they were keeping her grandmother safe, and that left her to work in peace.

  Player. She heaved a sigh as she made the turn down the hallway to her bedroom. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do about him. Rubbing her fingertips along her jean-clad thigh she pushed open the door to her bedroom, where he had been staying since he’d been shot, and stopped just inside to inhale his masculine scent. He’d been there over a month now. A full five weeks. She didn’t know what she was going to do when he was gone.

  The room was always clean. Not just clean. Perfect. He kept the bed made. There wasn’t a wrinkle in the comforter. He was meticulous about the placement of the pillows on her bed, almost as if he’d taken a picture and knew the exact position she’d placed each of them in prior to his taking over the room. It was impossible because he’d been brought into her room unconscious, and he couldn’t know where she’d kept the silly pillows.

  She sighed as she looked around the room. Just because it was habit, and she needed comfort, she went to her grandfather’s drawing and stood in front of it for a short time, looking at the beautiful lines and whorls, the delicate strokes and heavy slashes he had so lovingly and painstakingly drawn for Anat.

  Instead of feeling comforted, her heart ached more when she looked at it. The large intricately carved frame, so original, so thoughtful and perfectly surrounding the drawing with such love from her father, all for Anat on their anniversary, had always brought Zyah joy. She felt the love radiating from the gift to her grandmother from her grandfather and father. She knew over the years she’d built that up. This drawing was one of the few things she had—concrete evidence her family had existed. Right now, as she pressed a kiss to the pads of her fingers and then to the frame her father had made, she felt lonelier and more disconnected than ever.

  She had always been a strong, confident woman, but she was losing that confidence in herself and in the gift that had been passed down from mother to daughter for hundreds of years. Zyah rubbed her temples, trying to clear her head. She was reluctant to join Player and Anat, knowing that if she did, Player wouldn’t laugh so much anymore. Like Zyah was when she was around him, Player was stilted when he was around her.

  It was different at night. She came in every night and took away the things that tried to spill out of his head. So many terrible memories haunting him, and with each one, he moved farther away from her. She detested that. She had become aware that part of the reason he distanced himself from her was that he detested her ability to see what had been done to him as a child. No man wanted a woman knowing he’d been repeatedly raped and abused, subjected to the worst kinds of torture. He might want her to think they were nightmares, but they both knew she was looking into his real childhood memories.

  She told herself a million times that she didn’t want him to think that the terrible things done to him made him unworthy of a relationship, but she knew it was so much more than what he considered the humiliation of her knowing about his childhood. There was much more to his past than that. More that she had caught glimpses of and he had tried to hide from her.

  The stark truth was, he had killed people. A lot of people. If the images in his head were anything to go by, he had done some pretty terrible things to them first. When the men had been waiting in her garage to kidnap her, he had gotten to her fast in spite of being wounded twice. And he’d hurt at least two of them pretty severely. One was very bad, and he’d done it with his bare hands.

  She’d been fighting off the two trying to drag her out of the garage. She had skills, and they weren’t trying to really hurt her—or kill her. That gave her an advantage Player didn’t have. She’d tried to warn him, but she hadn’t known there were so many in the garage lying in wait to try to kidnap her. For what? She had no idea what they were after. She had discussed it with her grandmother. The jewelry they’d had in the house was gone. The thieves had already taken it. What were they after?

  Zyah forced her mind back to the pertinent facts, the ones she hadn’t confided to her grandmother—or to anyone else. Player had already been shot, suffered a terrible brain injury, but even with that, even unable to see, he’d shot two men, just going off the sound of their voices. She saw them fall. They’d been dragged off by their friends, but they both were hurt, she could tell by the trail of blood left behind. Strangely, the garage, yard, sidewalk and asphalt didn’t show one speck of blood an hour later, when she went outside. How had that happened?

  Torpedo Ink had shown up. Player’s family. His brothers and sisters. They’d come to ensure he was safe. Steele had performed a miracle on him, and then stitched that deep groove that went nearly halfway around Player’s head before she had insisted he had to stay right there, that he couldn’t leave. Because she had that strange premonition she sometimes got that told her she needed to be somewhere or something had to be done. She had good instincts, and in this case, she knew had she not acted on them, Player wouldn’t have survived.

  She sank down onto the bed, gripping the wooden post, facing the window that overlooked the sea. It looked out over the grassy field and the bluffs, with the view of the ocean crashing over the rocks, throwing white foam into the air. Her life felt like it was spiraling out of control, when she’d always been completely in control. She’d thought that was her problem. Never once had she let loose. She hadn’t known how—until that first night with Player.

  Zyah had seen Anat working hard to get them out of debt and to provide a home for them. She had wanted to help her grandmother. From a very young age, she had begun to do whatever she could to contribute. That had given her a serious view on life. She had become disciplined and very focused on becoming financially sound for her grandmother and for her own future. She planned everything. Her job had allowed her to put her money in stocks and bonds. To put most of it toward retirement. She was even careful with her investments, not risking too much.

  There had been so many nights she’d dreamt of letting loose. Of having friends and a partner. She could be that person she knew was inside her, waiting to break loose. “Player.” She whispered his name aloud.

  This agony had to end soon for both of them. He wasn’t hurting because his heart ached for hers. Or his soul cried out for hers. He couldn’t take her knowing what had been done to him as a child. She didn’t blame him for that. But it still hurt when he stayed so distant from her. Since that night he’d initiated sex with her—and she wasn’t putting that responsibility on him, because she’d been all in—he’d grown even more distant. That really hurt.

  She knew that every minute spent with him at night, getting into his mind, connecting them together, made it that much more difficult for her to let go of him, and she was determined to see him through this. His injury was completely healed, yet his migraines had worsened, as had his nightmares. Steele couldn’t explain it. They’d discussed the problem at length.

  Every night, Player would have terrible relapses. The nightmares were so bad this last week that he’d gotten very little sleep. The illusions deepened until the reality they provoked grew stronger. She knew she would have to go back to the original Alice’s Adventures in Wond
erland moment when he first brought out the characters for his Torpedo Ink brethren to amuse them. She needed to study that scene again.

  Zyah had known she’d been close to discovering something sinister, something only Player had been aware of in that room. She found it odd that even Czar, who seemed so sensitive to all of the other children and everything going on around him, wouldn’t notice that Player detested Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or that something wasn’t right in that horrible basement. But then, every one of those naked, brutalized children was freezing and starved.

  She hadn’t really looked at Czar’s face. Had he known? She’d mostly looked at Player and listened to the other children. She hadn’t wanted to see those little bodies with their ribs showing and sores everywhere. She hadn’t wanted to see the skin torn from their backs. The conditions had been so horrific, Zyah hadn’t wanted to look too closely. Did that make her a coward? She pressed her fingers tighter against her throbbing temples, hating to think she might be. She was still being a coward, trying to save herself by not looking deeper into Player’s mind. It wasn’t just the terrible things done to him and the others she would find there. She didn’t want to see what he and the others had done to anyone else.

  She lifted her chin. If she really was going to help Player, she had to stop being a baby and just do everything necessary. If that meant discovering criminal activity— which she already knew had occurred, though she thought it was honestly warranted—then too bad, she’d have to live with it.