by J. K. Coi
Her sweet submission caused an unexpectedly strong rush of exhilaration to swell inside him. He didn’t know why it had meant so much to hear her say she wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, but the words freed him, annihilating the last of the boundaries he’d constructed to keep himself from her. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to have her, taste her, and didn’t care anymore why it was a bad idea.
His hands traveled over her body, memorizing every inch of her perfect soft skin. He marveled at her beauty, skimming his fingers over the smooth column of her throat, down over her breastbone to dip into her bellybutton, then into the waistband of her jeans. He lowered the zipper and pushed the denim off her legs. When he came back to her, he reached between her legs, cupping her in his palm. He couldn’t help but groan aloud at the wet heat already soaking through her tiny thong.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled against her lips. She lifted her leg and hooked it over the edge of his hip. “So beautiful. You’re driving me crazy.”
“Good.” She blinked and gave him a slow, sexy smile. “I want you naked.” She kissed him, her tongue sliding against his, her body arching into him, trying to get closer, ever closer. “Now.”
She reached between them to grapple with the buckle of his belt, but Rhys pushed her hands away, standing by the bed to undo it himself. He gazed down at her, all laid out for him, her breasts rising and falling as she breathed heavily, rosy nipples tight. One knee was slightly bent, her legs spread just enough to tease him with the scrap of silk barely covering her.
“Jesus,” he groaned, realizing just how close they were to something that couldn’t be taken back. All of a sudden he felt a rush of guilt. He didn’t want to railroad her into this, didn’t want her to be so overwhelmed that she would regret later what they were about to do. She’d said herself that she didn’t even know him, and God knew she was right to be cautious.
He wanted to be a gentleman and stop this thing between them, but the impulse was quickly buried beneath thick layers of need. He wanted her too much. The best he could do was to remind Amy she had a choice and leave it to her.
“Amy, if this isn’t what you want, you’ve got one chance to let me know, because once I get my hands on you again, there’s no turning back.”
She smiled and shook her head, and Rhys let out a long breath. He lowered himself back over her, hands at her waist to pull the scant strip of silk down her legs.
“Time’s up,” he said hoarsely. He spread her thighs and buried his face between her legs, moving up from her kneecaps to gently nip the inside of her thigh. She gave a laughing little yelp, squirming beneath him. He kept going, tasting the perfection of her skin until he reached her dripping wet pussy. When he stroked her lightly with his tongue, Amy almost shot off the bed. He gloried in her tensing muscles and responsive little moans as she writhed for him.
He circled her clit, separating her moist folds, then penetrated her with the tip of his tongue. She was like ambrosia in his mouth. He savored her slick readiness, the spicy taste of her, triumphant in his conquest.
“God. You’re already so wet.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her thigh as he traced the lips of her pussy with his middle finger.
Her hands buried into his hair and held on tight as she cried out his name. He slipped his finger inside her. Then added another and started pumping in and out with a twist of his wrist, and flicked her clit with his tongue.
Whimpering, she grasped his shoulders, her tight sheath clenching on him. Her body tensed. Primed and ready.
“Please, Rhys,” she whispered, grinding her sex on his face. “Please. I don’t want to come without you inside of me.”
Rhys wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but he got even harder, his cock throbbing with a steady mixture of pleasure and pain. Her soft plea almost took him right over the edge.
He wanted her to take just a little bit more. “Not yet. Not until I tell you to,” he said, pulling himself back up her body until they were eye to eye. She groaned in response, her head thrashing upon the pillow. He palmed her breast and squeezed the tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing it to a hard point while with teeth and tongue he tormented the other.
Shifting into position, he spread her legs wider. Poised at her slick entrance, he paused to savor the heady feeling of anticipation, then slowly he entered her, pushing himself just inside, listening to her gasp and cry out. He chuckled when she lifted her hips to pull him in deeper, but he held still even though it was killing him, even though all he wanted to do was drive hard, fuck her until the world fell away.
Her passion showed in her face. Her eyes were glazed with it. Her tongue darted out over her bottom lip. Rhys couldn’t think of anything more erotic than that sexy flicking tongue, unless it was the hitch in her breathing, the sweat tracking between her beautiful breasts and the feel of her hips rising to meet his. He almost pushed himself to the hilt then and there, but managed to hold on. Pulling all the way out now, he played with her, rubbing his length along her slick passage while his fingers continued to pinch and tease her nipples and he took her mouth in a hard and searing kiss.
Amy cried out, her frustration growing as the pressure kept building. She knew Rhys wanted to dominate her, that he would make her beg for release by tormenting her. Everything she had learned about him pointed to a strong dominant streak, and she liked it. But at the same time, she’d been so damn easy up to this point…and Rhys was already so bloody sure of himself. She felt a need to turn the tables on him a bit, teach him a little lesson about who he was dealing with.
Thing was, she wanted him so badly that in another few moments she would beg, crawl—anything.
No. If anyone was going to do any begging from this point in, it would be him.
She pushed him back and dragged a fingernail down his chest, just hard enough to raise goose bumps and leave a small red scrape. Her gaze followed her hand over his abs, and she gloried in the way his muscles twitched and jumped at her touch. With her bottom lip between her teeth, she approached his waist and the erection jutting upward between their bodies, then paused for a moment before withdrawing her hand completely.
Rhys drew a low hiss of breath as Amy sucked her finger into her mouth, slow and deep, before returning to circle the tip of his cock, drawing out the bead of moisture there. She closed her fingers around him and squeezed just hard enough to force a feral, animal growl from between his tightly clenched teeth. She cupped his balls with her other hand, pulling at them gently until he swore and threw his head back.
“Ah, Christ,” he groaned. “You’re so good.”
“You better believe it.”
Amy watched his face as she worked him, keeping the pressure on his sac as she jerked him off. She forced him to the brink of release as he’d done to her, seeing it in his rigid posture and the tightening of his groin.
She saw when his control splintered. “I surrender,” he whispered against her mouth with a grin. He swept her up in a fierce kiss, planting his elbows in the mattress on either side of her head and pushing his hard cock deep inside her in one long, slick glide.
Amy had a moment to chuckle as she accepted his surrender…but the chuckle turned to a husky moan when she fell herself, surrendering her body to his ravishment.
When Rhys was completely surrounded by her hot, throbbing channel, his body stilled. “You fight dirty,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll have to remember that.”
Amy grinned wickedly and wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding on as tight as she could. “Somehow, I didn’t think you’d have it any other way.”
He groaned into her neck, his mouth pursed against the harsh rhythm of her pulse.
He kissed her lips, her nose, her brow. Amy opened her eyes, looking back at him, a little bit surprised by his sudden tenderness.
He started to move again and she clutched his shoulders, hooking her ankles at the base of his spine. Raising her hips to meet each of his hard, deep thrusts, s
he relished the feel of his sleek muscles shifting and bunching above her. The tension quickly built within her again, getting stronger and more powerful with every long, smooth stroke.
“Now,” Rhys commanded harshly as he increased the momentum. “Come for me now.” He rose up on his knees and lifted her hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and driving into her so hard his thick length invaded every inch of her with every stroke.
Amy couldn’t hold back the wave of sensation any longer and screamed as another orgasm hit with blinding force. Rhys yelled his own release and collapsed on top of her.
His blood was still pounding, his heart still thumping heavily when he felt Amy slipping into sleep. He dragged her into the curve of his body, liking the feel of her nakedness curled against him.
He was in deep shit, and nothing about this was going to be easy. Amy was no random woman to screw around with to relieve the tension…she was his woman.
Nothing had ever been so ridiculous…but felt so right.
Fuck. It didn’t change anything. It only confirmed that he was on a runaway train headed for derailment. He had to regain control, for both their sakes.
* * * * *
Doyle sensed his shadow before he saw anything. The dark-colored car had been stalking him for the past hour…and wasn’t being very subtle about it.
The ancient Irish warrior was having no more of it. It was past time to give this Bastún a taste of his claimhte—his sword. Then the jerk-off would see what happened when you were stupid enough to piss off an Immortal.
Doyle gunned the engine, turning his bike onto a deserted road heading out of the city limits, then he pulled over and jumped down. The other car was coming right up his ass, closing fast. Doyle pulled his Magnum but kept it concealed, just in case he was wrong about who or what was after him.
Just a few feet away the vehicle swerved to sideswipe him, but he leaped to the side, rolling in the dirt and gravel. Jumping quickly to his feet, he saw that the car had already stopped and a man was approaching.
He towered over Doyle’s own six foot two, with dark hair that hung down over broad shoulders and fists clenched at his sides. Doyle met his gaze. There was no life in those eyes, just ice cold. The only thing pumping blood through that body—if he even had blood in there and not black demon sludge—was ruthless determination.
Doyle noticed then that one of the stranger’s meaty fists clutched a dagger, and he had a crazy feeling all that ruthless determination was focused on gutting Doyle like a fish. As the guy got closer, Doyle noted that the knife blade was twisted, maybe Celtic in design, with strange symbols dressing the hilt.
Looking more closely, the scumbag seemed somehow familiar. He was much too authentic-looking as a human, so probably not a watcher, but Doyle’s senses were definitely picking up some vibes—something that danced around in his memory, just out of reach.
“I hope you didn’t come looking for trouble from me,” Doyle called. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m pissed off. And you’ve only got about ten more seconds before I get royally pissed off.”
“On the contrary, Immortal,” he replied with a tight smile. “I’d enjoy a challenge right about now. Perhaps your skills have even improved since the last time we met.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Don’t hurt my feelings, Doyle. You remember me. Didn’t we fight side by side for more than a century? It just goes to show how quickly your friends forget you once you’re gone.”
The last piece of the puzzle clicked, and Doyle took a hard look at the warrior.
“Ah, it’s finally registered in that feeble little brain, hasn’t it?” He laughed. “Took you long enough. I’m hurt. Really.”
“Shit. Gray?” Doyle asked, his voice conveying the disbelief that he felt. “It’s not possible. You’ve been dead for a long time, man.”
“You’ll learn, mi amigo, as I have, that death and time are all relative,” Gray answered mockingly. “Especially when you win the all-expenses-paid dream vacation to Hell.”
“Oh fuck.” Doyle sympathized.
“My own sentiments exactly,” Gray replied dryly. “Unfortunately, the handbook didn’t exactly spell out what would happen to an Immortal who took his own life. Apparently—and don’t quote me, mind you—said Immortal is then doomed to spend eternity paying for that sin in the Abyss, which is ironic when you consider that every demon he’s ever put away just happens to be biding its time there too, simply salivating for a chance to carve its initials into his carcass.”
Doyle inwardly winced, but to Gray he only shrugged. “You obviously managed to get out. Why are you following me? If you think that the Immortals are going to come after you and send you back, I wouldn’t worry. We’d probably have a hard time with that. You were one of us.”
Gray laughed, the sound reminding Doyle more of a snarl. “I’m not worried about you Immortals,” he sneered. “And trust me, it’s been a long time since I considered myself one of you. Let’s get one thing straight—I’ll take you all out if any of you get in my way, but hopefully that won’t be necessary.”
“Unfortunately, though, at least one of you has to die for me to get what I want…and Doyle, you just won the lottery.”
Gray lunged, his razor-sharp blade cutting a deep swath across Doyle’s chest. The Immortal felt the painful gash, but ignored it as he smoothly pulled his gun and quickly took aim. The bullet got Gray high in the chest, but to Doyle’s surprise it didn’t even slow him down. He just looked at Doyle and let out that sick, grating laugh again.
“You still don’t get it. I’m not anything even close to human anymore. Or Immortal,” he said to Doyle. “You’re going to have to do a whole lot better than that.”
“I don’t know why you’re doing this—” Doyle started, moving into a defensive position.
“The Guardian.”
“The Guardian?” Doyle replied, confused. “Why—? Never mind, I don’tknow what you want with the Guardian, or how you think you’re going to get to him, but you’ve gotten your head bashed in by one too many demons the last few centuries if you think you’re going to use me to do it.”
Doyle dropped the Magnum and reached behind his back to draw his sword from its sheath. He met the thrust of Gray’s dagger, countering with a wide swipe, and caught him across one shoulder.
Gray stumbled, but still didn’t fall. He swung his booted foot low, catching Doyle’s legs and tripping him up. Doyle fell to the ground with a hard whoof of air. He rolled aside just before Gray’s dagger would have plunged into his heart.
Gray pulled his blade back and made another leap at Doyle, who was still on the ground.
The two grappled and fought, throwing punch after punch until they were both breathing heavily, fatigue slowing them down.
Even though Gray was just as bloody and broken as Doyle, the bastard was like a machine. He kept going no matter how many times Doyle hit him, no matter how tired he was.
Doyle himself was nearing the point of no return. There wasn’t much left in him. This would be his final move, and he’d have to hope it was enough.
He surged forward and launched a powerful right hook at Gray’s already bloody eye in an attempt to force him back long enough to roll for his sword.
Gray beat him to it, standing with one foot on Doyle’s weapon, blade in hand. In a heartbeat he’d speared Doyle through the heart and wrenched the bloody blade back out again.
Doyle cursed, his vision going dark. He felt his lifeblood coursing from him. He blinked and looked down at the thick dark pool growing in the dirt. His legs collapsed under him and he was on the ground, lying in that pool of blood.
He was dying.
Gray roughly shoved him onto his back and put his hand out, hovering over the wound in Doyle’s chest. Through the bloody haze blurring his vision, he could see the strange markings on Gray’s palm. They glowed and pulsed with a life all their own as he put his hand on Doyle.
The pain was sudden, intens
e, like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was liquid fire burning its way through, incinerating him from the inside out.
Doyle screamed, his back arching high off the ground.
By placing his spelled palm over the wound, Gray had linked himself to Doyle’s Immortal energy as the man died, forcing it to be channeled through him before it could pass to the Guardian and then to the next chosen human.
Gray’s own pain was immense but he didn’t care. His dark power was absorbing every emotion, every pain that Doyle experienced, magnifying it and turning it inward. Gray couldn’t hold on to the connection for long. He prayed for the portal to open before he would be forced to let go.
A moment later, Gray’s eyes fluttered closed.
He opened them only to find himself kneeling in the middle of a vast nothingness. The dirt road and forest where he and Doyle had battled was gone. Darkness surrounded him. Gray hunched over and looked down. His hand rested not on Doyle’s bloody corpse but on a glowing sphere of light and energy—the Immortal’s soul.
Gray recoiled at a sudden flash of light, then the Guardian was standing before him. Triumph coursed in his veins, bringing a smile to his face. He hadn’t been certain this would actually work and was surprised it had been so easy.
Now was his chance to bring the Guardian to his knees—then he could sit back and wait for the real party to begin.
Having absorbed Doyle’s pain along with his power had left him crippled by pain. He didn’t let that stop him. Couldn’t let it stop him. And hurled himself at the Guardian.
As soon as he removed his hand from the ball of seething energy that was Doyle’s soul, the light winked out. His spirit passed but Gray didn’t give him a thought. He was finished with Doyle now, his purpose had been fulfilled.