by Julie Kenner
“I don’t like it much either,” she said, sniffling a little as she wiped away a tear. “I know it would be easier if I’d just fallen back into Christina once my memories came back. But there’s too much of Jaynie mixed up in me now. Too much of everyone else I’ve ever been.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “And I am sorry for that, Mal. I’m sorry I’m not the woman you loved anymore.”
Is that what she thought? Good god, how could she possibly believe that?
He clutched her hand and waited until she was looking straight at him before he spoke. “We’ve both changed, lover. How could we not after so much time? And I’ll grant you that your change was more violent than mine. New lives. New experiences. And all tangled up inside you like so much noise. So you’re right—you’re not the woman I loved. But I’m not the same man either. How could I be? How could either of us be anything other than the people that time has made us? And do you know what I see when I look at you now? I see a woman who is smart and funny and full of life. She’s loyal and she’s fearless. And even though she damn well better not do it again, I love the fact that she defies me.”
At that, she laughed, and Mal relaxed just a little.
“I love that she fights my decisions and makes her own. That she sees what she wants, and she goes after it. Don’t you see, lover? You aren’t the woman I loved anymore. But you are the woman I love.”
He kissed her then, so gently his lips barely touched her skin, but even so, sparks of awareness shot through him. “I hope that you love the man I’ve become, but right now, I only need to know that you trust me. As your mate. As your leader. Because if you don’t trust me, I can’t protect you. And I can’t lose you again. I might be immortal, but that is something I simply couldn’t survive.”
She blinked, and a tear trickled slowly down her cheek as she nodded. “I do trust you,” she said as she moved to straddle his lap. She pressed her palm to his cheek, and when he looked at her face—at the heat building in her eyes—he knew that she was telling the truth.
With a mischievous smile, she wiggled a bit on his lap, and his cock immediately went hard. She slid her hand between their bodies and stroked him, then leaned forward so her mouth was close to his ear. “I screwed up, Mal. What do you do when one of your team screws up?”
“Depends on the screw up.” He practically growled the words, because as far as he was concerned the time for conversation was over.
“Bad.” Her voice was low and sultry, and her breath was ragged. “Really bad.” She pulled back a bit so that he could see her face. There was heat rising in her eyes, but he thought that he also saw a hint of insecurity, and he couldn’t help but wonder at it.
“You might impose some sort of disciplinary action, right?” she asked.
He couldn’t help his smile of understanding. “Actually, lover,” he said as heat and need ricocheted through him. “I just might.”
*
My breath catches in my throat. “Yeah? What are you going to do?” I press a kiss to his jaw. “Ground me?” Another to his neck. “Cut off my allowance?” Lower still to his chest, my lips against his T-shirt. “Send me to my room without supper?”
“All very interesting ideas.” Mal’s voice is low and sultry as it curls through me, igniting every cell in my body. “But I want to hear it from you. What punishment do you think is appropriate?”
I lick my lips. “I screwed up.” My voice is low. Barely a whisper. “I really did. So I think you should probably spank me.”
“Do you?” I hear the way his voice rises in both interest and decadent promise.
I incline my head. “Yes.” The word is like a trigger, making my body soft. Making me wet.
His hands slide over my back, then down to cup my ass. With one harsh motion he pulls me tighter against him, our hips grinding together, his erection rubbing against my crotch. And all I can think is that I want to be naked. That I want us both to strip off these jeans, because I need to feel skin on skin. Right then, I think I need that as much as I need to breathe.
“Please,” I say. And though I have been shy before, that hesitancy has slipped away. I want this. More than that, I need it. And I think that Mal does, too.
He bends forward, his cheek brushing mine as he presses his mouth to my ear. I shiver from the contact. From the way his beard stubble scratches my tender skin. The way his tongue softly teases the edge of my ear. “I can’t tell you how hard the thought of my palm against your bare ass makes me,” he says, his words making my body clench in anticipation. “But no. I’m not going to punish you.”
“Oh.” I sit back, embarrassed, my posture going stiff. I start to slide off of him, but he presses one hand against my thigh to hold me in place.
“This isn’t about punishment, lover, it’s about trust. It’s about me knowing that you trust me enough to hand me control. And it’s about you trusting me not to push you too far.”
He holds my chin as he looks at me. But though his touch is gentle, I see the flare of heat on his face. “Do you understand?”
I nod. My entire body seems hyperaware. His touch. His scent. I’m aware of my breathing, my heartbeat. Even the tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingle with anticipation of his touch.
“Stand up.”
I do, but I feel suddenly awkward and have to fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “Mal.”
He leans back on the couch, looking completely relaxed. One eyebrow cocks up. “Yes?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I say. “I think I just wanted to hear your name.”
His smile is slow and very, very sexy. For a long moment he says nothing, just looks at me, his gaze starting at my feet and traveling up until our eyes meet. I take a step toward him without even thinking, as if there is an invisible string between us and he is slowly—very slowly—reeling me in.
“Take off your clothes.”
His words stop me. “What?”
“You heard me.”
I drag my teeth over my lower lip. Apparently we’re playing games. But that’s okay with me. Because if we’re playing a game, then I’m going to play to win. Although I have a feeling that with this kind of game, even the loser wins a prize.
“Now,” he says, and I lift my chin in response.
“Yes, sir.” I flash him what I hope looks like an innocent smile, then take the hem of my T-shirt and pull it over my head. I let it fall to the floor, leaving me clad only in my pink lace bra.
The jeans have a button-fly, and I keep my eyes fixed on Mal’s as I very slowly and methodically unfasten each button. I take a step closer to him, then hook my fingers in the belt loops and start to tug the denim over my hips. “Want to do the honors?”
I think I see temptation in his eyes, but he just shakes his head. One small, firm motion. “I think I’ll just enjoy the view.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, then ease the jeans down until they are pooled around my ankles. I’ve already taken off my shoes, so I step out, leaving me in only the pink bra and equally pink boy shorts style underwear.
I stand for a moment, watching him as intently as he is watching me. I feel hot. Needy. And as his eyes travel deliberately over all of me, I have to bite my lip in defense against the urge to slide my hand between my legs and touch myself.
“Do it.”
My eyes flutter open—I didn’t realize I’d closed them. “What?”
I’d heard him perfectly clearly, of course, but the command—issued with such power and heat—has cut through me in a way that has my sex clenching and my nipples hardening almost painfully against the lace of my bra. I want to comply, but god help me, I want to hear him say it again.
“You want to touch yourself,” he says. He spreads his arms along the back of the couch. Except for the erection straining against his jeans, he looks completely relaxed and casual. “I want to watch. So do it.”
“Mal…”
But he just shakes his head.
I swallow, but then I clo
se my eyes and press my palm flat against my belly. I slide my hand down under the waistband of my underwear until I’m stroking my sex. I’m hot and wet, and I gasp from the delicious sensation. But it isn’t my touch that I want. “Please,” I whisper. “Mal, please.”
“Come here,” he says, and I almost melt with relief.
I go to him and stand in front of the couch between his legs. He tugs the underwear down, then nods at me, indicating that I should step free. Then he sits up straight and draws his legs together, tilting his finger as he does. I know what that means. I’m supposed to bend over his knee.
I hesitate, then draw my teeth over my lower lip. I’m nervous, yes, but I’m also desperately turned on. And so I comply, bending across his lap so that my ass is right there in front of him and his erection is pressed against my abdomen. And in that moment, I know that this is right—this is perfect. Because I am open and exposed, my head down and my body vulnerable. I couldn’t survive this—couldn’t want this—if I didn’t trust him. And I do. So help me, I trust him completely.
“Lovely,” he murmurs as he strokes the globe of my rear with the palm of his hand. And when he slides his hand between my legs and slips his fingers inside me, my body trembles with need and a wild desire rises inside me, and I’m suddenly afraid that this is a mistake. Because surely we are playing with fire.
“Mal—” I draw a breath, trying to hold myself together. “We shouldn’t—I can’t—”
“Yes,” he says. “You can. We can. Now hush,” he adds, and punctuates the order with a firm smack on my rear. I cry out from the sharp pain of impact, then moan a bit as he rubs my rear, soothing the sting even as heat spreads through me. He slips his fingers inside me again and I groan with pleasure, my body clenching tight around him as he draws free. I want to cry out in protest, because despite the fear—despite feeling the weapon rising in conjunction with my pleasure—I want more.
Another smack. And once again he rubs the sting away.
“Again?”
“Yes,” I say. “Please, yes.” But he just strokes my rear, soft and gentle despite the way I writhe against him in unspoken demand.
“Do you trust me? Will you let me take you as far as you can go, but no farther? Will you do that for me? For us?”
“Yes.” I have to force the word out. My throat is too full of desire. My body too flush with need. “Yes. Yes, please.”
“Good,” he says. “I want that, too.” He lands another spank, then another and another. Between each he soothes the sting with the soft stroke of his palm, then teases my clit and fingerfucks me until I am just about to go out of my mind. Which, of course, is the entire point, but that’s hard to remember when wild pleasure is spiraling through me, rising up higher and higher and pulling the darkness out with it.
“Mal—oh god, Mal!”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve got you.” But instead of taking me down, he’s still stirring me up. Touching and stroking and teasing me, taking me closer and closer to the edge—
And closer and closer to the end.
I whimper, so close to the edge and so full of the dark that I’m starting to fear that Mal has lost control. That this was a mistake. That we should never have gone this far because there’s just no way to come back from this, and we’ve screwed it all up, and—
No.
Absolutely totally no.
I trust him.
I trust him, and we’re okay, and I’m fine. And I’m listening to his words. Calming me. Telling me to pull it back. To tamp the weapon down. To breathe, to breathe, to breathe.
And then that’s all there is. Just breath and life and light.
The weapon’s gone, only smoky tendrils remaining, curling through me as if in dark reminder of what could have been. Of what we fought.
With a shock, I realize that I’m no longer bent over Mal’s lap. I’m in his arms, pressed tight against him, and my eyes are closed tight. Slowly, I open them, then manage a wavering smile. “You were right,” I say.
“I know.” He lowers his head to kiss me, and when he pulls back, I see humor in the gray of his eyes. “And I think you liked it, too.”
I don’t quite meet his eyes when I say, “Maybe. A little.” I peer up at him. “I’ll like it more when you can take me all the way, but until then, I have to say this was just fine.”
“I told you to trust me,” he says with a laugh.
I grin in return. “Yeah,” I say. “You definitely did.”
Chapter 6
‡
“I think I deserve some sort of award for not completely flipping out,” Bray says.
We’re in the VIP lounge, and he and I and Dagny have been sitting at one of the dark corner tables for the last half-hour. Mal is across the room, discussing strategy with Liam, his co-leader of the brotherhood. Asher is there, too. He’s the brotherhood’s second-in-command. And though he very enthusiastically wanted me dead until just recently, once he learned that I can see the amulet, he conceded that I am more valuable alive.
Good news for me, but I fear what will happen if I don’t ever manage to acquire the piece.
It’s late afternoon, and they’re all three smoking cigars, and though the smoke is filtered out by a state of the art ventilation system, some of the scent remains, filling the air with a woodsy, almost chocolate scent that I can’t deny I like.
Raine and Callie are across the room, sitting at one of the smaller tables huddled over a game of chess. I’m terrible at the game, but I’ve learned that Callie is kick-ass and has given Raine a run for his money several times.
Dante’s still in Germany, and I’m not sure where Jessica is.
And although Mal has mentioned another of the brotherhood who is assigned to New York, Trace, I haven’t seen him yet. According to Dagny, that’s a good thing. Apparently Trace and Raine aren’t exactly the best of friends.
Not that I have outlined all of that for Bray. On the contrary, Dagny and I have been taking turns very slowly telling him the basics, both about me and about the brotherhood in general.
And, of course, about the fuerie.
“And you guys are sure that this is all real? I mean, it’s quite possible I hit my head really, really hard.”
“It’s real,” I say. “Believe me, I was pretty freaked out myself a few days ago.”
“Except you had your memories to back up the story, right? All I have is your word.”
I frown. My memories aren’t exactly the most reliable. When you grow up with an insane mother, you learn early on to question reality.
Bray, of course, knows all about my mom, and I see him wince as soon as he realizes the import of what he’s said. “Sorry, Jay. Of course it would have been weird for you. I wasn’t—”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “And now I know that despite her craziness, my mom got one thing right. There really is something dark and horrible inside me.”
He drags his fingers through his hair. “See, I still don’t understand that. This weapon is in you, but you can get it out with an amulet?”
“Stones can hold energy,” Dagny says. “And these were mined in our dimension, so they are more potent than earth-based gemstones. The combined energy of all seven stones has remarkable power.”
“All right,” he says. “I get that. I did a paper in undergrad about the healing power of gemstones. It was pretty interesting stuff, actually, and while I don’t intend to put rubies inside my patients when I open them up, I can’t deny that in some cases gem-based therapy seemed to have results. But,” he continues, leaning forward to put his elbows on the polished wood table, “what I really want to know is this—can I get another drink? And this time, make it a double?”
Dagny laughs, then brushes a kiss over his cheek. “Sure. Just give me a second. I need to tell Mal and Liam a couple of things.”
She shoots me a quick glance as she leaves, and I understand the subtext: You’ve known him longer; make sure he’
s really okay.
“So today I learned my new girlfriend is immortal and my best friend could destroy the world.” He frowns, rocking his head a bit as if considering a weighty problem. “Not the best day, but on the whole, I think it ranks better than a med school final exam.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“For what?”
“For not freaking out.”
“Inside I’m a little freaked,” he admits. “I’m practicing for when I’m in the operating room. No freak outs allowed in there. I like Jessica, by the way. That’s a damn nifty trick she has.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “Your trick’s a bit dicier. You doing okay?”
“I am,” I say. “I’ve had my moments of serious freakout, but that’s kind of the norm for this kind of thing, right?”
“Got news for you, Jay. There is no ‘this kind of a thing.’”
On that, I have to agree. “To be honest, everything would be fabulous if it weren’t for the weapon. I mean, I’m back with Mal—”
“Which is weird right there. A few days ago you didn’t even know him. Now you’re attached to him for all eternity.”
I nod slowly, trying to gather my thoughts in a way that will help Bray to understand. “It’s like I saw him, and that opened a door. And all the old memories and feelings came rushing back. He is my husband, mate, soul mate, whatever you want to call it. And I know it and I feel it. But I’m feeling it as Christina. As Jaynie, I’m still in that wild, passion-filled stage. I know he’s the one—I can feel it here,” I add, pressing my hand to my heart. “I trust him, Bray. I trust him, and I love him. But it’s still a little strange. Because even though I have the memories, it feels like we skipped right over all the romance-filled dating parts.”
“But not the sex,” he says, deadpan. “Please tell me you didn’t skip the sex.”
I feel my cheeks go hot as I remember the intensity with which Mal and I made love last night. “Um, no. Definitely not skipping that part.”