Her Insatiable Dark Heroes

by Her Insatiable Dark Heroes (lit)

  It wasn’t long before he faded into sleep, and Zotorro allowed his own weariness to overcome him, her beautifully bold curves all his. As he crashed into slumber, the caricature image of a man’s face ferociously glared, then sneered at him. He knew in the following instant the man’s identity. Mowzolinn, one of the Black Force Elite, who wanted to rise from the shadows and be emperor. It was his science minions who had insanely concocted and delivered the satanic tornado, Zotorro realized. His attack on Chrontropolis had not ended, but merely begun.

  Chapter Eleven

  SlashFlame Kitten

  Hearing the deep-sleep breathing of two Dark brothers, Wendy roused herself out of the cobwebs clinging tenaciously to her mind. Zotorro still held her, his cock filling her. Good holy lord, they’d become rutting beasts with the stud equipment to match. Raising her head, she blinked past her grogginess and saw Zent peacefully asleep with his hand attached to her back.

  If she moved too much and woke them up, they’d want to take her again. Not only want it, they would take her. And, for now, her slut hormones weren’t acting up. Weren’t making her hideously ache with desires she’d never even guessed at before. Laying her head back down, she scrunched her eyelids together and attempted to think in a manner that would actually help instead of hinder her. There was so much to consider. It played in her head like scenes spliced together haphazardly, demanding she focus on one event at a time, then attempt to pull all the pieces together. Attempt to understand.

  Cool, the temperature of her hand. That’s what she noticed first. No sizzles shot to her fingertips, indicating her flame was viable. Maybe they’d mounted the fire out of her. Only, her palm had heated up on Zotorro’s chest earlier. Suppressing a moan of confusion, Wendy stopped herself from rubbing her cheek on Zotorro’s deliciously strong chest. And halted herself from thinking about how much she did love him. How she’d basked in the exquisite passion as they had made love.

  It was no longer about just the two of them, though. Squirming inside restlessly, she wondered how the frozen hell she was supposed to handle being with all of them. The entire clan of Dark Brothers.

  The scene of Zavier catching her in his arms as her flame swirled to its end and she fell, replayed in her mind. Her heart raced, and she nearly jerked with the painful spin of her emotions. Again, she felt Zavier’s ruthless determination to save her from herself. She felt the moment he decided she belonged to him, to them all, as if a spark passed through her flesh.

  Donkey’s hide damn it, she absolutely hated admitting the truth of her situation. She’d been Claimed. Still, truth was truth, no matter how much she despised it. No matter how hard she twisted inside and fought against believing it.

  Wendy squeezed her eyelids tighter. Her chest hurt and felt like it was going to explode. Pop! Pop! Pop! In her mind’s eye, the bomblets used in early attacks on Chrontropolis burst inside her instead. The pale yellow fragments of light had destroyed small portions of the city, leaving perfectly round craters, most of which the superheroes had repaired. Now, she had round craters inside her.

  No. The truth. Zavier would never let her go. There was no way in the blazing black hearth of Hadres, even if she could convince Zent and Zion, and even Zotorro, who remained an outside chance, to let her be more independent of them so she could continue dancing. No, it was never going to happen. Once he’d made a decision of this magnitude about a woman he wanted, Zavier was the type of man who would never let go.

  Wendy suppressed the urge to shiver. She possessed not one clue how to deal with the total truth she’d forced herself to face. No, the Dark Brothers would never harm her. They would take care of her the best way they knew how. She realized they all loved her, if in different ways and at different depths. Still, she couldn’t help it. Cold seized the pit of her stomach, feeling like a large lead ball. She was frightened that she could never meet their savage carnal appetites even with her own change. Ignoring the image of their giant-sized cocks, Wendy swallowed past the sudden thickness in her throat.

  Remembering her own more-than-amazing pleasures and extreme ecstasy did not take away her icy fear.

  Drawing in a long breath to calm herself, Wendy hoped to stop the tears from gathering in her eyes. With her chaotic emotions cruelly slicing into her, she reviewed everything that had occurred between them all since they’d brought her here. Blushing enough to make her cheeks burn, she fast-forwarded over their insatiable prowess and their so-called primitive mastery tactics.

  Once again, truth smacked her in the jaw as she relived her own newly awakened passions. Quaking inside, a few tears escaped. And she couldn’t sniff them back. No, she couldn’t reverse what she’d experienced. Nor could she reverse her slut hormones.

  Super slut hormones.

  There’s the furry donkey rub. If not the Dark Brothers, who? God knows I don’t want any other men, or man, touching me. Ever!

  She blinked back more tears, recalling how frantic and driven she’d been to use her flame to help Zavier, Zent and Zotorro recover as fast as possible. Her love for them had been as intense as the fire flashing up inside her. She’d been compelled to help them despite Zion’s stupid order.

  Oh, great big crap, what now? I want to dance. That hasn’t changed. I want to dance as much as I ever did. I need to dance.

  What if they never let her dance again? Fear stiffened her body, roiling through her belly.

  No! She mentally screamed at the thought of not being able to dance. It was an unceasing scream, reaching for the farthest corner of heaven. Losing her freedom to perform would be the same as losing her breath.

  Damn Zavier. Damn all of them! And this mastering business, they all needed to be donkey-kicked by Super-ass Donkey himself. But so far, to her knowledge, no animals had developed enhanced powers. If she ever found Super Donkey she was adopting it pronto.

  And I’m training him to kick the Dark Brothers on sight or whenever I command. Damn it to hell, my fanciful imagination is getting me nowhere.

  “Wendy?” Zent’s whisper interrupted her fantasy. Sure as misery, her super-pet talking donkey could place a flashing-fast hoof right where it counted most. In their groins.

  “Awake,” she mumbled, and then turned her face towards him.

  “What are you thinking about?” He moved closer and gently stroked her back through the blanket.

  “You don’t want to know.” She continued their hushed tones, not wanting to wake up Zotorro.

  He paused before speaking. “Castration.”

  “Not exactly. But close. Are there any animals with superpowers?”

  Again he paused a split second. “Not that I know about. Do you want a pet? Like your dog, Blanco?”

  “I miss him.” Double crap, she wished she hadn’t said that. The less she thought about what she’d lost the better. And most of the pet animals in Chrontropolis and the surrounding area had been killed in the attacks, or used for food before some manner of order had been restored and the meager food supplies flowed again.

  When she focused on Zent again, the emerald sparks in his eyes beamed with an intensity she’d never witnessed. “Sorry, Wendy. I spoke before thinking. We used to enjoy walking our dogs together.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Blanco had a serious love vibe for Portha.”

  “Don’t mention love vibe.”

  “A pet donkey, that’s what I want,” she returned just for her own perverse satisfaction.

  He grinned, too much amusement in his gaze. “A kickin’ donkey. One that has good ball-buster aim.”

  “Yep, that’s the one. And he talks just like Gorlo in that crazy-funny movie, When Donkeys Rule the World.”

  Zent’s whole countenance lit up. “I remember. He stood on a parade platform with his fake mustache and dictator uniform, directing the troops with precise switches of his tail.”

  Wendy nodded and softly giggled.

  “I have heard there are donkeys running wild with dragonhorse herds.”

  “Dragon
horses.” Her heart flipped painfully. “What about—?”

  “Zavier and Zotorro managed to free their herd. About half of them are still okay, and running with a wild herd.”

  Wendy heaved her breath in and out, shoving away her sorrow. “That’s something.”

  “All there is to do is rebuild, darlin’.”

  “I know. It doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “No.” He swept longer strokes over her back. “I wish like hell it did.”

  “We keep having the same conversation, don’t we?”

  “None of us are going to heal our mind wounds as quick as our bodies, Wendy.”

  “It all runs too deep. A scarring of the soul.”

  “Wendra.” His voice caressed her soul.

  “Are you okay, healed?” She needed to know, even if he needed to take her the same way as Zavier had.

  “Almost back to super normal.” He gave her a small cocky grin, and then brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

  “I can’t give up dancing.” The words sprang from her deepest self, unbidden.

  He hesitated before tenderly stroking his fingertip down the line of her lips. “Give it time. We’ll come up with a way.”

  Wendy shut her eyes briefly. The questions—When? How long did she have to wait? And when would they consider her mastered?—pummeled the back of her lips. It would serve nothing to whine the questions at him. Besides, his answers would only frustrate her more fiercely. She bit her inner lip even as her mouth sensuously tingled from his touch.

  “Time.” Her heart plummeted.

  “You know I’ll watch you dance,” he eagerly spoke, seduction in his gaze.

  “You want me, don’t you? Or is that a ridiculous question?”

  “A ridiculous question,” he repeated, his tone velvet.

  Suddenly a curious urge tickled her, to know how Zent would handle the current situation. “Tell him to un-nail me,” she teased, indicating Zotorro with a slight movement of her head.

  “If I do, what do you want me to do to you?”

  Wendy reeled from the sensual desire in his voice and from the searing glints in the depths of his eyes.

  “One of your fantasies, Wendy. What do you want me to do to you?”

  She trembled, her entire body quaking.

  Zotorro stirred beneath her, quickly waking up. Threading his fingers through her hair, he cupped her head gently. “Wendy, princess,” he purred in his languid waking-up voice.

  As she gazed down at him, he brought her mouth to his; dragging his lips over hers in a sumptuous kiss she could only return with equal desire.

  Once he lazily released her mouth, much to the regret of her lips, Zotorro glanced over at Zent. “Take care of her, will you? I’ve got to talk to Zavier. I had a vision about one our enemies before I fell asleep.”

  Before she could say yes or no, Zent flipped the blanket off her and seized her waist. Powerfully, he lifted her from Zotorro, who leapt off the bed and departed in a flashing blur.

  “I feel like a plaything,” she complained as Zent settled her inside his embrace.

  “I could say ‘yes’ and you could slap my face.” Zent ran his hands over her butt with an enthusiasm she found arousing, even though her belly felt gouged by his over-huge cock.

  “It’s poking too much.”

  Another breath later she moaned with absolute pleasure. He massaged her butt. It was an incredible sensual bliss. Straddling his steely rod with her kwim she undulated slowly, her moist lips sliding back and forth on him. Closing her eyes, she basked in the sensations. “Oh, that feels good.”

  “That does feel good.” He massaged her butt cheeks more deeply and so perfectly she moaned without any inhibition.

  “Plaything,” she reminded. Rising upwards, she pressed her clit on his cock, rocking on him stronger and faster. Sweet shards of ecstasy traveled up her loins.

  “You can still slap me. Or you can give me one of your sin-tempting nipples.”

  With her body all too eager, Wendy thrust a nipple to his lips. He grabbed greedily, suckling her, while his hands still gave her butt a pleasurable workout. “Yes, oh yes,” she whispered. As he tugged, it felt like he drank of her feminine essence, so starved he could never get enough of her.

  A terrible and wonderful wildness possessed her. Pressing harder and riding him with longer strokes, she rocked on his furnace-hot shaft. Sensations of wicked bliss zinged through her, ending at her clit then striking backwards and flowing up to her nipple, still held tightly by his mouth. “God, Zent.”

  He seized her butt as if his fingers had turned into talons, and then pulled on her nipple instead of suckling. “Yes, perfect,” she uttered. The bliss went to her head and she felt wanton all over. Gripping with his teeth, his tongue tip flicked, sending bolts of new pleasure through her body.

  She rode the length of his scalding cock, her motion frenzied. The building ache of her kwim clawed at her, desperate to explode in a climax. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lost herself in the raw ecstasy of sliding up and down his shaft. “Is this what you want?” she dared, the words rashly pouring from her.

  In answer, he handled her butt like a conqueror, his grip almost brutal. At the same time, he bit her elongated nipple, and then teased with his tongue. “Damn, Dark Zent.”

  Like her flame, rapture swirled upwards, and seared every inch of her flesh.

  Vise-clamping his thighs with hers, she rode him faster and harder. As she blazed toward her orgasm, a demanding pain throbbed in her mound and caused her to cry out. Several harsh breaths later, the pleasure sweetly ripped its way up her body, feeling like an uncontrolled firestorm.

  Inside, she was a spin of bright ethereal sparks. Arching her head back, she became motionless, her clit bearing down on the tip of his cock.

  “Wendy.” Primal and rough, she heard him speak her name. His breath scorched her wet nipple, and she plunged into the depths of the firestorm again, her orgasm consuming her whole.

  “No,” he rasped the moment she began rocking on the end of his shaft.

  He lifted her up by her butt cheeks, and his cock penetrated, taking her sheath like a missile, hot, unerring and sleek. She gasped; he took her so ruthlessly hard. Falling forward, she keened a moan as her breasts smashed exquisitely against the wall of his chest.

  “This is what I want,” he demanded darkly. Seizing her hips as if he’d suddenly transformed into a heathen warrior, he positioned her to his liking, and then pumped his enormous shaft inside her without a moment’s compromise.

  God, I feel split in two.

  “Zent,” she whispered, and heard the helplessness in her own voice. She was his to enjoy however he desired. Frightened, yet wantonly excited to her core, Wendy clutched his shoulders, her body molten with pure female enjoyment.

  His hips bucked powerfully and smoothly as he thrust his cock in and out of her for the longest time. Glowing with ecstasy, Wendy held on for the incredible sex ride. Only his thrusts moved her pliant curves against his body. Holy amazing, he was boldly carved.

  She let her head drop, her lips naturally pressing on his chest in a clinging kiss.

  “Yes,” he hoarsely uttered. Increasing the rhythm of his strokes into her, he groaned savagely and growled, “I want you to come with me.”

  Her kwim blossomed with another sharp ache, as if she was his to command. The plunging rule of his body pleased her at some level she didn’t fully understand. Lifting her head, she burst out, “Please, please, make me.”

  Faster and stronger, he speared inside her convulsing sheath. Wendy screamed, feeling as if she would shatter from her rising need. Instead, when her zenith arrived she dissolved into a lovely splendid nothingness, and then hung suspended inside a bubble of bliss even as his cock plundered her.

  “Wendy.” He arched violently, shoved her tightly down against his loins, his shaft so deep in her she wanted to struggle. Yet her orgasm also raced through her, at the same rate as her blood rushed through her fl
esh.

  He released her, his hands deserting her hips. Quickly, he captured her in his arms. Tenderly and firmly, he held her against the length of his body; his skin slickened with the sweat of his orgasm. She listened to his heart pound, and noticed her heartbeat matched the rhythm of his.

  “Don’t move, darling,” he gently rasped. “I’m still coming.”

  Feeling boneless with her own bliss, Wendy basked in the brute sculpture of his body beneath hers, and smiled. There was nothing else to do in this moment, even with the conflict of her emotions waiting just below the surface.

  She inhaled his virile scent, and the carnal fragrance of their bodies, still joined, woman and man in mating union.

  What, she mentally asked herself. Was she destined to have one of the Dark Brothers’ planted inside her most of the time, no matter how rapturous the pleasure?

  She made a valiant effort to think, yet there was no way. Her mind refused, and sailed on scudding serene clouds as she remembered them. How they once were. Clouds in this day and age appeared angry or morose, their shapes gross, or often indistinguishable, merely lumps of depressing gray in the heavy ash haze.

  She sighed.

  He groaned.

  “If I had known—” he began. Wendy swore she heard his lips clamp together.

  “Known?” she prompted, her tone a jab.

  “Not worthy for your ears,” he contritely spoke, and caressed the small of her back.

  “What? I’m a good lay. Is that it?”

  “I always knew that, darling.” He paused. “I didn’t know how good.” His voice teased her.

  “An inexperienced good lay. Yeah, that’s me. Instead of a slut, I’ll consider myself a good lay. Great galloping donkeys.” Despair duked it out with the sensual elation of her body.

  “I can’t finesse this one. I’ll have to make it up to you.”

  He ran his hands over her back in such a loving manner that Wendy almost forgave him. However, she wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Her stubbornness flared up as if a lit match had been thrown on her. “Slut. Plaything. Good lay.”

  “Mine.”