by Autumn Dawn
"You deserved it!” she shouted, kicking him in the shin and pushing at his wrists. He released her, afraid of what he might do if he did not. Tears of fury glittered in her eyes. “You were being a jerk on purpose!” she accused him.
He narrowed his eyes. Very coldly, he reminded her, “You asked for my help."
Shoulders heaving, she answered with contempt, “I asked someone I thought was my friend for help.” Her eyes raked him with disdain. “I won't make that mistake again."
She started to brush past him and he caught her arm. He wasn't finished.
Unfortunately, she was.
"Release me,” she ordered him, in the tone no Haunt could resist. Of their own volition, his fingers opened, and she stalked away, her hips unconsciously swaying with every step.
Furious at his inability to follow, he turned to Mathin, looking for a target.
Mathin just shook his head in sympathy as the other Haunt melted away with prudent haste. “Women and war don't mix, my sorry friend. Come and have a drink."
"She asked me for help.” Keilor thumped his glass on the redwood table and poured a third shot of rye liquor. “I fail to see what she had to complain of.” The windowless taproom in the bowels of the citadel was busy serving lunch time customers, but was not nearly as boisterous as it could become with the after dinner crowd. They could converse easily, and there was enough space between tables to ensure a sense of privacy.
"Perhaps you do not wish to see it,” Mathin observed, leaning back on his rear chair legs. He caught the eye of the least ugly waitress and smiled with promise. She hurried over, and he inspected her with lazy satisfaction.
A little breathless, she asked, “Can I get you anything, sir?"
He gifted her with a dazzling smile. “Something solid, I think, to soothe my hunger. I've got a powerful appetite this afternoon."
Blushing, the woman took his order and hurried off to deliver it to the kitchen. The men watched as the other two waitresses conveniently converged on the bar at the same time and began talking in hushed whispers and giggles. The boldest even glanced back at the two warriors and smiled.
"When women are petted, they purr, and their friends purr, too,” Mathin said, a pleasant smile on his face. “Dampen their spirits, however—” he made a clawing motion with his hand.
Amused in spite of himself, Keilor still had to inquire, “And if they ask to be taken out in the rain?"
Mathin sighed and shook his head at him. “She's a woman, imbecile. You can't expect her to react like a soldier. Galling as it might be for a warrior, she's one student who'll never come close to what we regard as perfection.” He paused and stretched his long legs. “So give her what she wants. Surely there's something she might master.” His eyes danced with thinly veiled amusement. “She appears to be fairly promising with a gun."
"Go away!” Jasmine shouted at the door. Her bottom smarted and her pride still stung, and she wasn't about to let Keilor come inside and inflict more damage. She wasn't a child, and if he wasn't bright enough to figure that out then he could just go to—
"Jasmine,” Keilor said again through the door. He was beginning to sound exasperated.
Urseya smirked over her teacup. “Perhaps you should just let him in.” She took a sip, savoring it. “Besides, if he's come to grovel, I, for one, wish to see it."
Hmm. She does have a point. Jasmine thought. Urseya had witnessed the entire fiasco earlier, and when Jas had stalked off, she'd joined her on the way back to her room, complimenting Jasmine on her spectacular aim. Then she'd casually remarked that if Jasmine truly wished to unman a man, she'd be more than happy to teach her every trick she knew.
Jasmine had stopped, stunned, and scanned her face for an ulterior motive, but she'd quickly been convinced of Urseya's sincerity. It seemed when it came to proving that men were inferior beings, Urseya rose to the occasion.
In light of that ... “Come in if you dare,” Jasmine called.
Keilor wasted no time with subtleties. “Urseya.” He nodded to his cousin, took Jasmine by the hand, pulled her up from her chair, and towed her from the room, intent on some privacy.
"Hey!” It was impossible to get any kind of traction on the polished floor, so the best Jasmine could do was yip at him like a toy poodle tied to the back of a Mack truck. “Don't you have any manners, you troll? I have a guest!"
Instantly, Keilor stopped, spun on the balls of his feet and swept Urseya with a courtly bow. Jasmine teetered, and he wrapped a long arm around her and plastered her to his side. “Do forgive us, dear cousin, perhaps we can chat after my love and I have completed our business. Make yourself at home, and don't wait up for us."
Too astonished by his actions to protest, not to mention inflamed by the feel of his hard body plastered against her unprotected curves, Jasmine allowed herself to be towed along as far as the second door in the hallway before finding her tongue. “Are all Haunt men barbarians or am I just terribly unlucky?"
His low laugh made her shiver. “Some day soon you're going to find out that having a barbarian for a mate can be a very good thing."
Heat caused by his words pooled between her legs and she stumbled at the sudden ache. Keilor's head rose like a wolf scenting prey, and his nostrils flared. His eyes told her that he knew, and his knowledge of her weakness made her tremble. Without a word, he picked her up and carried her, equally mute, the short distance to his room.
The interior was dim, the furniture brown and heavy. His room was half the size of her own, yet contained a microscopic and very cluttered kitchen. The ugly quilt on his narrow bed was ragged, torn, and sliding off the naked mattress, which rested on the floor. Weapons of every description littered the coffee table, furniture, and nested in corners, along with various articles of discarded clothing.
It looked like Martha Stewart's nightmare of Hell.
"Take one step toward that bed, and I swear you won't live to regret it,” Jasmine vowed, repulsed.
Keilor halted, looking down at her in surprise. “What's wrong?"
Jasmine wriggled, and he set her down on her feet. Wrinkling her nose, she called for lights and made a wary survey of the place. Experimentally, she ran her hand across the back of one of his leather chairs. It came away dusty. Grimacing, she wiped her fingers on her black pants, leaving behind a dirty gray streak. “What is it with men and dirt?” she muttered, moving a crusty plate off of one of his leather chairs. She dusted it with a discarded towel before sitting. “I can't believe I didn't notice all this the last time I was in here."
"I believe you were preoccupied,” Keilor reminded her, somewhat irritated. Since she had chosen to sit in a chair, he moved to the battered leather couch and sat down, resting on arm across the back. His eyes swept her with restless hunger.
"Forget it,” she informed him in a no-nonsense tone. “I am not making it with you in this pig sty.” She ignored his narrowed eyes. “You were so eager to talk, so, talk."
He pinned her with a stern look. “What happened this afternoon will not happen again.” He paused, but she only watched him warily. “If you have a grievance with me we will talk about it, not attack each other."
"I wouldn't worry about that, Urseya's going to take up where you left off.” Her eyes lowered to half mast to disguise her hated tears. Doggone it! Why couldn't she ever get angry without tearing up like a baby? Keeping her eyes lowered, she forced out through a tight throat, “I doubt I'll feel the need to shoot her.” The silence dragged out, and finally she admitted, “I may have been a little rash this morning, but you have to admit, I did catch you off guard.” He didn't flex a muscle, so she went ahead and dug her grave deeper. “You were so convinced I would never measure up, I couldn't resist proving you wrong."
He relaxed at last. “You don't need to measure up.” When her face darkened, he added, “Not to the standard I am trained to use."
Against her will, awe seeped into Jasmine. His face and voice now reflected his years of experience, th
e easy command that made him such a daunting warrior. Here was the man who had fought for, and won her, and now she didn't know what to do with him. Maybe she had made a mistake, wandering into this warrior's world.
"I realized this afternoon that what you had asked of me and what I had thought you'd asked of me were not the same at all. I apologize for treating you like a soldier."
In the light of his apology she could be magnanimous. “It might have been a little childish to shoot you,” she admitted. “I'll try not to lose my temper next time.” She smiled slyly. “Or at least not in front of witnesses."
He snorted and returned in kind, “Then I'll try to restrain myself from spanking you ... and wait until we're alone to administer an appropriate punishment.” It was obvious what sort of torment he had in mind as his eyes heated and caressed her through her clothes. His nostrils flared again, catching her scent, and for one heated moment, she almost reconsidered letting him take her then and there.
Whew! They needed a subject change, quick. “When was the last time you cleaned this place, Keilor?” she asked, standing up to circle the room. No point in being too obvious about bolting to the door. Better just to detour and slip out as her circuit brought her close to the exit.
In two graceful strides he was at her side, offering her his arm. Amused, he told her, “You'll reach the door more quickly if you travel in a straight line."
Flustered and painfully aware of every breath he took, she murmured something in agreement and allowed him to escort her from his room.
Her reprieve was short lived.
Not five steps from his door, they stopped, and Keilor backed her up against the wall. Loosening her hair from its tie, he finger combed it smooth down her back and twisted a silky strand around his finger. He brought it to his lips, and shock waves traveled up the strands to dance around her scalp. “Tell me what you want in a husband,” he whispered.
Jasmine gulped. She'd never considered making a list. “I don't know,” she answered on a breath. How was she supposed to consider such things when he was making her toes curl?
She felt him smile against her cheek. “I will not beat you, Dragonfly.” He took one of her hands from his chest and slid it dangerously low on his hip, letting her feel the ripple of his taunt, warm muscles. “I am a good provider.” He moved closer, cradling himself against her hips and burning with every hard inch. She couldn't help it, her mouth fell open and she moaned.
"It's n-not the ... money,” she gasped. She'd never expected anyone to provide for her, the last few weeks not withstanding. Truth be told, she'd begun to feel less like a pampered prisoner and more like a parasite every day. She wanted to do something with her life, earn her own way. Besides, with a room like that, how rich could he really be?
Undaunted, he took her right hand and slid it under his vest, over his heart. “Then perhaps you'll accept this?” he asked softly, brushing his mouth against her lips. “It's been yours for some time now."
A lump formed in Jasmine's throat, and her eyes prickled. No one had ever told her what he was telling her, save Rihlia. No man had ever felt as much. She hid from him behind closed eyes. “I don't deserve it."
For a moment, he simply held her. Then, with words she would remember for the rest of her life, he breathed in her ear, “I don't know what has happened in your life to make you believe such a thing, but I will spend the rest of mine proving to you that isn't true."
Chapter 12
"My feet are always cold,” she warned him. “I'll be forever wanting to put them on you."
He chuckled and nuzzled her neck, drawing on the tender skin before answering. “I like the idea of cold feet in bed. I'm always overly warm, myself.” His voice dropped an octave. “Besides, I think I can find a few ways to warm you up."
"Um.” Jasmine broke away from his kiss with a gasp. “I hate a mess. I'll be forever nagging at you to pick up after yourself."
"I'll survive,” he assured her and kissed her with a dizzying hunger. She arched into his body, craving more, and he obligingly slid his hand down to cup her breast.
A soft cry escaped her, and her hands slid into his hair, tugging loose his queue and tangling into all that long, mink soft hair. All thoughts of where they were and the likelihood of being caught evaporated from her brain, and all she could think about was fusing her body to his and putting out the fierce ache.
Lucky for her, he had a fraction more sense.
Keilor tore his mouth from hers, took her hand and nearly ran to her room.
Urseya was gone, and they wasted no time getting naked. Keilor made it as far as his pants before passion overcame him and he tumbled her back on the quilt, feasting on her mouth as if he'd never get enough. “Give me the words before I go up in flames,” he demanded, breaking the kiss to free her mouth for speech.
"I'm yours, for as long as you want me,” she scrambled to say. The time for waiting was well past. All she wanted now was completion.
He rewarded her with a melting kiss. With fiery eyes, he answered, “I take your promise and give you mine. I'm yours, heart and soul, until the end of my life or yours. May it be a long time in coming."
Jasmine cried out as his soft, hot mouth closed over her nipple, sending seismic tremors throughout her hungry body. From her single, failed experiment at loving at nineteen, she'd concluded that she simply wasn't one of those woman who felt much sensitivity in her breasts, but Keilor's feverish tongue and gently nipping teeth were proving her dead wrong.
She squirmed and tugged at his shoulders, desperate to have him inside. “I'm ready! Oh!” she cried out as his hips moved against her in acknowledgment, but his words didn't bring her any promise of relief.
"Not yet.” His answer was guttural and swift, but plain enough. His mouth switched to the breast he'd been massaging with his callused palm, and she arched underneath him, bridging the space between them with her body as she cried out. He reared up to watch her, something like surprise and fierce satisfaction in his face. “More,” he commanded her and slipped a finger inside her hot, slick body.
This time she screamed.
Thoroughly aroused, eyes bright, he demanded, “Again,” This time his thumb circled her sensitive peak as he slid two fingers inside her, fast.
Her response deafened them both.
"Please!” she cried, scrabbling at his back, begging with her words and her body. “Please! I-I can't—"
"Yes,” he promised. “I will please you.” He tossed his hair over his shoulder and kissed his way down her belly, dragging his tongue over all the sensitive hollows as he went.
"Keilor!” she wailed. What was the man doing? She wanted him, needed him more with each passing second, and all he wanted to do was stoke the fire! What would it take to make him put it out?
By the time he reached her ankles and began to lick his way back up she was ready to kill him. She begged for more with her hands, tugged urgently at his hair, yet he wouldn't—
He reached her inner thigh, and she knew that she was about to die. No flesh and blood woman could possibly survive this kind of pleasure. There was no time to consider whether or not she was ready when his burning lips left her thigh and covered her intimately. His tongue darted deep within and she went mad, twisting and begging him to stop, to not stop, to make it stop while her hands tangled in his hair and forced him to remain exactly where he was.
And he loved it.
One look at his riotous eyes was all that her overloaded senses could take. A beast knelt between her legs, feasting on her body, deliberately driving her to the edge of sanity. She began to sob. “It's too much!” she cried. Any more and the barriers that she'd carefully constructed around her emotions would vanish like so much dust, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable. That couldn't happen. “I can't take it!"
"You will,” he growled against her, giving her a long, deliberate kiss.
And the walls came a’ tumbling down.
Only then, when she was complete
ly spent, trembling, and feeling more shy and untried than at any other time in her life, did he come to her. Without a word, he stripped off his pants as she slipped under the covers, hiding. It did no good. He simply flung the covers back and pinned her hips to the bed with his own, slipping his legs between her thighs and forcing them wide. “I'm going to love you so deeply you'll never get me outside of you,” he warned her. “You'll walk from this bed, but you'll take a piece of me with you wherever you go."
She panted as the broad head of his erection parted her slick folds. She wanted him there, but it burned. She knew she'd taken all she could when the burning turned to fierce pain. “Are you done yet?” she demanded, freezing up around him.
He huffed in disbelief. “I've barely begun.” He pressed harder, gaining what seemed to be more than enough ground.
"H-how ‘bout now?"
Teeth gritted, he forced himself to a trembling halt. “Have you done this before?” His breathing was harsh and getting harsher.
"Once. Four years ago,” she admitted with embarrassment, adding defensively, “But it didn't hurt then!"
He growled. “What was he, deformed? You're as tight as any virgin. Never mind,” he told her as she tried to hide her face. “All the better that I be the one to break you in properly."
The actual words were harsh, but she understood what he meant. Reassured, for she'd had no way of knowing what he'd think of her sexual history, she found the strength to endure as he slowly and gently worked his way inside her.
"That will have to be enough for now,” he said at last. “You can't take any more of me tonight."
Her eyes widened with indignation. What she'd already ‘taken’ had caused her discomfort enough. The idea of having to absorb more of him at another time displeased her greatly.
Her expression must have said as much, for he laughed, causing vibrations deep inside of her. Giving her a quick kiss, he told her with more than his share of cockiness, “Don't worry, sweet, you'll soon have cause to be thankful for a big lover.” His eyes darkened, and he became serious. “Tell me if it hurts.” He withdrew a fraction, and she stiffened in pain. The careful return thrust was no better. Switching tactics, he began to rock her gently, neither pushing nor withdrawing, using the least possible friction. The micro movements were bearable as the longer thrusts hadn't been, and she began to feel a touch of pleasure in spite of the discomfort, just enough to keep her from asking him to stop. Still, it was a guilty relief when he threw his head back in a silent roar as he shuddered and stiffened above her with his own climax.