by Billi Jean
“Thank you.”
He glanced up with a surprised expression before he bent to his work again.
“You’re welcome.” His low, husky tone felt intimate and pulled her from her comparison. There really was nothing in common between them. They were both strong warriors, but with Brennan there always the guilt. The knowledge that without her he could seek his own way and find happiness. With Stephano, there was none of that crushing sensation, only a curiosity and attraction that was tinged with the knowledge he was only interested in bedding her. The thought made her sad because she’d been wrong. That wasn’t all he wanted. It was all he knew.
She remembered all the times he’d talk to her, telling her silly things when she couldn’t talk, and asking question when she couldn’t speak, then guessing outrageous things as answers. Now she realized she could talk to him. She could say anything to him at all. Already she’d rescued him, the same as he had her. That meant things that were only now coming clear. I can say what I want to him, and if he doesn’t like it, he will simply tell me, or laugh at me…
“Green.”
He glanced up at the one word, tipping an eyebrow at her.
“Green, it’s my favorite color, and purple, light purple is my next.”
“Ah, I see. From flowers. Lilacs? Or lavender.”
“Both. I like them both. I…planted lilacs near my home. They smell sweet, and they always stay pretty.”
He grinned and went back to cleaning her hand. “They do. Like you. And lavender? You don’t like it alone?”
The compliment made her want to smile. It was automatic, she thought. He didn’t mean it. She doubted he realized he’d even spoken. Such practiced seduction. How many years—centuries—has he used such words on women? Feeling even sadder, she focused on his bent head. This close, she could see where his hair was lighter, the auburn streaks no doubt caused by his life under the sun. She liked it, how the dark and light mingled. The urge to touch his hair was nearly unbearable.
“No, I like it with the lilacs. It’s too strong otherwise.”
“You had a garden.”
“Oh, yes, a beautiful garden.” She missed her home so fiercely all of a sudden that it was an ache. Her kitchen, the garden she’d planted, most of all, the isolation of her own, safe little world. Stephano continued to work on the cut on her arm up to her elbow. As he did, she began to tell him all the things he’d wanted to know, but she’d not been able to say before.
By the time she’d tended to his wounds and they’d eaten a little more of their stores, she felt she knew more about Stephano than she did about Brennan. It wasn’t what he revealed as much as what he guessed at or asked her. His questions were thoughtful, as if he’d had time to ponder them. Much, she supposed, as she had over him.
“You’re tired. Go rest. I’ll stay awake for a bit longer. To be certain.”
“Certain?” She eyed the bed, a bed he’d tipped the mattress out of and stomped on, then tossed over and done the same to the other side. Billows of dust had come out of it, but nothing else. The tower was amazingly free of bugs and rodents. She assumed they had nothing to eat. The coverings on the bed had gotten a thorough shaking outside the window before he’d smelled them and done it for quite a bit longer. She was tired. So very tired.
“We are in an abandoned city.”
She shivered. It didn’t feel abandoned, it felt…haunted.
He walked over. “Are you frightened? Here.” He tugged off his shirt, revealing his firm, hard chest. The display made feel breathless. “You can lie this down to sleep on.” Every inch of him was solid muscle, hard and toned to perfection. But the lines of him were also covered in scars. Dozens of scars.
“Oh, Stephano…”
He lifted her onto the bed as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. She didn’t protest, but she didn’t let him go of his wrist either.
“What is it?” he asked, sounding bewildered.
She went to her knees on the bed and touched a thick line of white, raised tissue near his shoulder. “How many…?” Her throat burned too badly for her to continue without swallowing a few times. “How many battles have you survived?”
“All but one, sweet.”
She frowned at him, catching a look in his eyes he quickly hid behind a smirk. Her heart thudded painfully. How much he must have suffered. “Don’t do that. It’s terrible. Such pain.” She smoothed her fingers over another raised line of scar tissue. “Did someone care for you? Help you?”
“I’m a Spartan, we live to fight.”
“What is a Spartan?”
“Ah.” His flesh shivered under her palm when she rubbed it over his hip and up his side. “A Spartan?”
“Yes. You said they live to fight. Why?”
“Ares.” His tone was odd, rough almost. He cleared his throat. “I serve Ares. For him we must battle.”
Ares. “The God of War?”
“You know him, eh?”
She shrugged and picked up the wet cloth. “Here. Stand still.” She began cleaning the lines of his back. Ares was a terrible god. He had ventured into her realm, not only ventured, but created followers who forced their ways on others. Stephano didn’t seem to be that kind of man. He was all that was good in a warrior. A hero. “Haven’t you ever had someone to care for you? To help you when you’re hurt, or ease you when you’re simply tired, and grumpy?”
He laughed roughly. “Men don’t need such things.”
“I think men do need such things,” she muttered. “Everyone needs to be cared for, especially when they’re suffering.” She blinked back the tears building in her eyes at the image of him, of his friends, carrying on, hurt and mended, hurt and mended, time after time.
He didn’t answer, she guessed because he hadn’t thought of such a thing before. For some reason, that was even sadder.
She smoothed the warm cloth against his side, where he’d hidden a deep slice. He didn’t indicate he knew it was there, not even when she made him wet the cloth again and return it to her. The way he walked fascinated her. It reminded her of some kind of wild cat. His muscles rippled from his sternum to his pelvis. No doubt he was dangerous, but now, she began to realize, he wasn’t to her. The knowledge made her heart ache to give him something to compensate for her lack of faith in him.
“I don’t like Ares. I never have, but now I might hate him.” She wiped the cut thoroughly, not wanting him to grow feverish from infection. “For this.” She traced her fingers over a jagged scar, then over another one that crisscrossed it. “And this, and this…” She pressed a kiss to a nasty white blemish that had to have been an arrowhead right above his left hip. “I really do hate him. Why does he demand this of you?”
“I owe him my existence.” Stephano cradled the back of her head and tried to make her lift away from what she was doing.
She ignored him and kissed another scar instead, tasting his salty skin on her lips this time. He’d fooled her. He’d made her believe he was nothing but a flirt, a man who lured women into his bed so he could tumble them, then go on to the next. And he was that, he had survived that way because he’d never known any other way. But he was more. So much more.
“You break my heart, Stephano.”
“No man would ever do such a thing to you.” He laughed but no doubt even he could hear the falseness in his words.
She made him turn so she could run the cloth over his back again. You will. We both know you will. A tear fell but she ignored it and focused on tenderly caressing his scars. How many more will he receive trying to free my brother? Free me?
She bit her lip even as she rubbed her hand over his warm skin. She was as bad as Ares. She was as selfish, because she would let Stephano fight for her, for her brother, even knowing it might cause him more pain. Even knowing it might scar him, she would allow it. If it meant she could live without the constant fear and guilt and give her brother his freedom she would use him as much as he wanted to use her.
But now,
this night, I will ease him, and show him what it means to be cared for. Truly cared for.
Stephano wasn’t certain what Maeve was doing to him, but he never wanted her to stop. Her soft hands were magical. Even his shoulders were seen to, the wounds there from so long ago the memory of receiving them was nothing more than a blur of pain. But Maeve caressed her hand over them, massaging the muscles there, and the ache he’d not registered before her, slowly eased. His entire body felt wonderfully warm and almost completely relaxed. The one part of him that wasn’t, also wasn’t getting any attention.
“Maeve.” He had to stop her, stop this before he tossed her onto the bed and took more from her than he knew she was ready to give. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want more. Oh, his body did, but in his heart, and every other inch of him, he wanted this—her, like this.
Only, Maeve had other ideas. Her next kiss was along his nape and the sensation of hot lips and warm breath had him groaning.
“How long has it been since someone cared for you, Stephano?”
Cared for him? No one had ever cared, no one had ever shown him that he mattered beyond the rough slap on the back one man gave another. Not that it mattered. Men didn’t need such things. He’d learned early on that some people were simply never cared for, while others were.
“I think a long, long time.” She slid her soft, warm hand around his torso and up his chest, making it impossible for him to speak. She spoke so softly, even her voice was turning him inside out. Sexy. Her voice is intimate and sexy. He had wild thoughts of holding her in his arms until this ache she’d stirred was soothed. Not fucking her until every last drop of his semen exited his body in a blinding rush of pleasure, but hugging her instead. What’s wrong with me?
“Or maybe you simply don’t know what it feels like, to have someone care for you.” She caressed her mouth over his shoulder blade while she pressed her hand down his stomach, creating such a fire where she touched him, he blinked to get the sweat out of his eyes. He was half surprised they didn’t go up in flames.
“Maeve,” he groaned when she skimmed her hot mouth along and up the contours of his shoulder blade. “You—”
“Shhh.” Her hot breath on his nape had a shiver going from his scalp to his toes. He couldn’t move. Didn’t dare breath for fear of stopping this.
It’s been so damn long. But… Does she mean? “Let me care for you. Will you let me?” Let her? He was so aroused his body felt alien, so foreign he wasn’t even sure he could control his response if she did touch him. His cock was heavy, pulsing, and painful. The confines of his breeches torture. The leather forced his erection to angle down, but he was built thick, so the root sprang out big and continued down to the mushroomed head in one long column, now trapped and sweltering.
“I can, you know. Care for you.” She kissed his spine. “I can show you what it means.”
He blinked more sweat away but his brain was unable to connect the dots. Then, as if she could read his deepest fantasy, he felt her undo his belt. Sweet gods, don’t let this stop.
In answer to his prayer, her fingers worked his breeches open even as her lips and tongue licked a line down his spine. She made him groan again when she had him in hand.
It was better than a dream. Every bit of it, her, this, was beyond anything he’d ever fantasized about. The light from the low fire, the scent of her sweetness, the way she never stopped touching him with her one hand and her mouth. It was all driving him to an orgasm he knew was reaching the point of eruption.
“I watched you,” she confessed then, causing him to shiver in pleasure from her touch and her words. She bit gently on his nape, stroking down his cock as he shuddered with desire. He stared down at her small hand, groaning at how pale and pretty it was trying to circle him but unable to grasp his girth completely. She didn’t let that stop her from rolling her palm over the sensitive head and smoothing the moisture down the column with her fingers. All the while, she gave a sweet, sexy little hum. That happy sound seemed to say what she did pleased her as much as it did him.
He had to look away, had to throw his head back and stare at the ceiling as she did the same move again and again. Each time he swore he’d wake up and find himself alone, but she kept whispering to him and kissing his flesh and her warm palm and amazing fingers smoothed all over his shaft. He caught her rhythm and couldn’t help his hips from giving her subtle thrusts.
“You are so beautiful, so masculine.” She ran her lips over his ribs. His erection tensed, growing so hard it was painful. But gods, her lips were sinful. She didn’t merely kiss him, she licked and sucked, nibbled and played with his flesh, then slipped her mouth along his back. But her hand, he glanced down. Her hand was small, but held him perfectly.
“I’m gonna come.” He could feel the edge. He wanted to make it last, but also wanted to cover her hand and give himself those short, hard strokes that would bring on his climax. He hung there, caught in her grip.
As if she knew, she began smaller, tighter strokes that rubbed back and forth over the flared hood. He grunted as those sensitive nerves under the head were seen to with more skill than he even used. Sweet gods, it’s so good. It’s been so long. So damn long. “Yeah, like that. Stroke my cock like that.” The explicit demand felt powerful, causing a shiver of pleasure to slither down his spine.
She obeyed. She bit his skin over his ribs, then licked along the spot sinfully. “I pleasured myself, Stephano.” His mind filled with the image of her pale thighs, open, her small fingers sliding along slick, pink flesh… “Did you know? To the sight of your hand along it, like mine is now.”
“Mae!” He bit back a curse at the heated confession. His balls drew up harder than rocks. The shiver blossomed to a flood of goosebumps that traveled down to his toes. But it was Maeve’s words, the proof she’d been there and enjoyed the sight of him, that was going to set him off. “Gonna come.”
“Yes.” Her breath sent another dose of erotic pleasure on top of the overwhelming amount already weakening his control. “Come for me. I want you to. I want to give you this, Stephano. You can’t take it. You never would. But I can give it to you. Only you. Come for me.” She spoke the last against his hip, sucking hard there right after.
Her words pulled his muscles tighter than a torture rack. His seed rushed up his shaft painfully. With a shout, he reached for her hand and gripped it tightly under his. Then he couldn’t stop himself. He thrust through their joined hands, roaring her name as spurt after spurt of his semen surged from the sensitive slit. In his mind it wasn’t their hands he bucked into, it was her hard, hungry mouth sucking his hip. The orgasm went on and on, until with a boneless rush, he nearly toppled sideways.
Maeve released him and began softly brushing kisses up his ribs and chest, then light as a feather, placed one after another on his lips. “Sleep now, Stephano. Sleep while I tend to you.”
He battled heavy eyelids, trying to stay awake as every bone in his body seemed to resist. He sank farther onto the bed, and for what felt like the first time in his life, he felt fulfilled, satisfied and…right in every way.
Something warm and sweet-smelling brushed along his forehead and again against his lips, but it was so pleasant he knew it was Maeve. He accepted the kiss as sleep took him.
Chapter Sixteen
Maeve stared down at Stephano sleeping, and brushed the tears from her eyes. He was relaxed-looking in sleep. She wiped another tear aside. How could his mother ever leave him? Warring since he was a child… No wonder he only knew one way to live, one way to enjoy what was meant to be shared with love.
She gently smoothed the cloth over his forehead then down his cheek and jaw, going up the other side of his face after. It was traditional for a Siren to wash the face of the man she loved. Do I love him? She cleaned off his chest, then unable to deny herself the experience, moved the cloth over his ample manhood.
The fleshy shaft wasn’t as hard as when she’d caressed him to his pleasurable rel
ease, but it was still heart-stopping. She licked her lips and checked on him. He was snoring lightly, his chest rising and falling. His muscles were smoother now, not so tight and hard.
But it was his trousers she had to deal with, and putting him to rights. She had a feeling Stephano would not like waking with his body uncovered. She considered the leather then his shaft. His testicles were daunting, let alone his penis. Are all men so large? She couldn’t say, but Stephano was sure of himself, and such arrogance must be partially due to his size and what he did with himself. The way he’d shuddered and held her hand almost painfully under his as he’d thrust through their grips…it had been arousing to think of him doing that to her body, not their hands. He’d clearly enjoyed the experience. So much so he’d fallen asleep after.
With great caution, she gently tucked him away. He shifted his legs in his sleep but didn’t wake. Uncertain if he would awake any second now, she buttoned him up quickly, heart in her throat, and buckled his belt as well. Heart hammering, she went back to cleaning his hands and arms in case he woke. He didn’t, which was good. Because with each touch, she grew more and more achy inside where she now knew she wanted him.
No, this was for him. Only him. If he woke and knew she was aroused, he would want her, surely. No doubt whatever he did would be…good, but some things were to be given. I gave this to him. No matter what else happened between them, this night, caring for him, was the right thing to do.
* * * *
Stephano woke, startled from sleep and reached for his blade. He found the soft curves of a woman. Maeve. She lay on her side, curled against him. Breathless from the grip of his dream he tried to think of what to do when she shifted away from him with a sleepy sigh. After a few minutes of waiting for her to speak, he realized she was deep asleep. Still unsure, he watched her for a while longer. She buried her head under her arm, hiding most of her face almost as if protecting herself. Careful not to wake her, he brushed some of her long hair off her face and back over her slender shoulder. In sleep, she seemed younger to him. Her cheeks were flushed. Was she warm? He held the back of his hand to her forehead, but she felt fine to him, not too hot. He wasn’t. The heat he’d been battling since entering this world had dimmed.