“No,” he confirmed, placing his mouth so close to hers he could taste her breath.
“Then why do you do that?”
“What?” He couldn’t think straight, not with her lips ripe and inviting just beneath his. Not with her body held captive to the aggression of his. He’d never wanted a woman with such burning intensity. He craved Mary to the point he worried he would take her against her will. Take her against the padded wall of his dojo, drowning out any protest with the possession of his mouth.
“You come so close to kissing me, but you never do.”
He looked right into her eyes. “The choice is yours, Mary.”
For a moment, he watched as her eyes grew wide and her breath stopped, as if time stood still between them. In the end, she lifted her head and pressed her lips against his.
The tentative touch of her mouth burned through him, finer than any rage or joy. Such pure, raw emotions catapulted him into a frenzy of desire. He pressed against her yielding flesh and kissed her hard. Forcing her lips open, he let go of her wrists to grasp her slender hips through their thin covering of white cotton.
He lifted her against the wall, slid her up and then forced her legs apart, moving between them to press even closer, as if to become a part of her. Rocking her against the padded wall, he felt her legs wrap around his hips as her thighs tightened with greedy encouragement.
His reaction swift, possessive and passionate, he ground himself against her, moaning out her name. As he pressed, friction rode between them, making him harder, her wetter. Thin cotton fabric in black and white the only barrier. He wanted to rip the fragile layers away. Fill her. Possess her. Ravage her while the heady perfume of her wanton encouragement saturated his senses.
His mouth filled with the rich, ruby-fruited blood orange of her hunger. She twined her small body around him in urgent rhythm and desperate need, cooing her lust in his ear with her panting breath.
The wet heat of her soaked through the thin fabric of her white gi pants. So wet, as they worked against each other, she soaked the fabric of his. A tug on the drawstring of her pants, one on his, and he’d be able to bury himself deep within her sweet, wet heat.
Groaning, he lowered his head to force aside the V-neck of her white gi. Moving lower, he found her coffee-colored nipple and pulled. His teeth nibbled as his tongue took her compelling scent to his mouth and nose. She smelled and tasted so damn willing and eager, like ripe fruit begging to be picked. She wanted and needed as much as he.
Mary arched her back and cupped his seeking head to her breast.
Surrender.
A fusion of flowers, oranges, spices and rich, verdant earth covered with fresh spring grass emanated from her as if all of her were open to him.
He found her mouth again, thrusting his tongue to hers, penetrating her mouth as he longed to do the same to her core.
Fear and desire, contrasting, conflicting, the scents overwhelming and intoxicating, filled his mind and his mouth with a delicious mélange. Mary tasted fresh and raw and—
“Stop.”
Breathless, her voice shaking, Mary barely managed to whisper the one word. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard her, wanted to keep grinding himself against her, wanted to rip off her pants, then his, and bury himself with one hard thrust.
“Please.”
He looked down into her velvet-brown eyes and found them filled with terrified bewilderment.
“You said you wouldn’t steal from me.” Her voice shook, echoing the trembling panic in her body.
Her terror dashed cold across his hot flesh. Growling a string of expletives, he set her down. Rumbling with strong need, tempered by a reluctance to force, he longed for her to succumb. He wanted her capitulation more than he’d wanted anything in the whole of his life. He refused to settle for anything less than her willing submission.
He understood why she felt overwhelmed. She’d kissed him, and he’d pounced on her. One kiss and he thought he could do whatever he wanted to do. He shook his head. Mary wasn’t that simple, and he could never hate himself enough if he forced her to do something she didn’t enthusiastically embrace.
As soon as he released her, she ran from the dojo without looking back. Not a coward, but a woman who knew full well what would happen if she lingered.
He cursed himself a thousand nasty names as he stood fully primed like an animal that allowed his targeted mate to escape.
One kiss, one sweet trembling kiss from her lips compelled him to slam her into the wall and practically rape her. Still, his erection throbbed, and the base part of him wanted to chase her down and take her on the damn floor if he had to.
If he caught up to her and pushed with the right word, the right touch, he knew she’d let him have his way. Or at least he could overwhelm her such that she’d make, at best, a feeble, breathless protest.
Stop.
Please.
Skilled hands would override her objections and she would part her legs with panting eagerness. He could taste that her lovers had been woefully unskilled. Probably lovesick young bucks who took their pleasure without a fleeting thought to hers.
First, he would bring her to the brink repeatedly with swirling fingers, scraping teeth, and a deft tongue, and then, and only then, would he take his own pleasure. He would thrust himself to her body and taste her passion as he answered her need with his own. He would revel in her surrender as he filled her body with the delicious scent of orgasm. Mary’s pleasure would be ambrosia.
Traces of moisture lingered on the front of his black gi pants, evaporating in the dry air. It didn’t do a damn thing to cool the heat of his erection. He could smell her all around him. Her scent fused to his brain like an addictive drug that latched to wide receptors. The base primal part of him knew that wet female scent of desire, mixed with a flavor unique to Mary.
“Prime Bastard knows exactly how to bring that delicious smell to the peak of potency.”
Higher conscience knew that to steal from her would not bring him pleasure. Her enthusiastic participation would bring him pleasure. Mary had to want in the same measure as he, and she did, but she couldn’t give herself over because of the secrets between them.
Groaning, he went to the locker-room shower. Cool water rushed down his body. Still hard, he tried to ignore his straining erection as he washed with brisk efficiency. His thrusting flesh refused to be ignored.
“Damn.”
He thought of a million other things, but Mary danced in his mind until he satisfied the painful drive with his own hand.
It didn’t take long.
Three tight strokes.
Fist to his straining flesh, he came so hard he had to steady himself against the blue-tiled wall. Ragged and blasting, his breath eventually slowed. The passion that consumed him receded to a bearable hum.
“Great.” He pushed off the wall. “A hundred gallons of cold water, a one-handed exercise, and I’m still unable to think of something besides Mary.” As soon as he said her name, the scent of her filled him again.
“Damn!”
He yanked the wall spigot all the way to cold and stifled a scream as icy water hit him. Despite the frigid flow, he got hard.
Chapter Eleven
Mary ran to the only place she thought she would have privacy—her bathroom. Slamming the door, she pressed against the painted wood as she breathed in frightened gasps. Her nipples rubbed against the gaping cotton gi, and she pulled the edges closed as she retied the wide, white belt.
In the forbidden art of karate, the darker the belt, the higher the rank, black topping all. Commander considered himself so high up he didn’t even bother to wear a belt, just thin black gi pants that gave him total freedom of movement.
And move he did. He made it damn clear that to fight him physically would be a total waste of her time. Compared to him, she deserved to wear a white belt. He’d provoked her anger and used it against her. He told her so, then he told her to concentrate. When she did, she ki
cked him, because he was distracted by, well, she wasn’t sure.
He’d been sniffing again. Sometimes fast like a musk-squirrel, other times with a slow fullness like a curious wolf. He’d taken a long lazy sniff of her and not only let down his guard, but he turned into the direction of her kick. Her heart stopped when she thought she’d injured him. Had her foot landed down and over a few inches, she would have blasted him square in his cluster. She giggled. One blow that hard to his crotch would have dropped Commander for hours, if not days, if not permanently.
Without thinking, she plunged her hand into the side vent of his pants. His skin like taut velvet atop hardened muscles compelled her to explore. After he had taken a deep sniff, his erection pulled the gi pants against the back of her hand, and she’d tried to retreat.
Somehow, shortly after that, she’d ended up against the wall, and gave in to the temptation to kiss him. Her first kiss. Then all of a sudden, he’d been right where she wanted him, between her legs, rocking into the welcoming warmth of her. His blatant hardness rising against her wetness compelled her panic since he was in the last position she should let him get into. Wanting him, fearing him, crazed for him and blinded by the intensity of him, she hung on to him as he lived up to his name. Commander took command with thrilling aggression.
His powerful, primal body felt good—great, actually. No, more like fantastic. Every lusty fantasy of Overlord from her youth sprang to life all at once. She couldn’t help but picture her shadowy hero having his rugged, sharp, and wickedly arrogant face and body, along with his cock-sure attitude. She couldn’t help but make Commander the star of her Overlord fantasies, but to have him act out her dark-of-night dreams terrified her.
When he touched her, she forgot everything but the screaming needs in her body. His lemon zest, the coffee-and-sugar of his mouth, the feel of his questing lips on her pleasure-swelled breasts made her forget her own name, and care not one whit for his. Commander made surrender easy. She wanted to give in and follow his lead—big carrot indeed.
She felt again how he slid himself against her with rough insistence, and her fingers involuntarily slid downward.
Casting her gaze around with guilty eyes, she yanked her hand out of her pants and clutched her hands into fists, trying once again to find the cameras in her bathroom.
Sexual frustration combined with terror for her precarious position compelled her to burst into tears. She ordered House to turn the lights off so she could cry in the dark.
Thinking the cameras might have infrared made her cover her face with her hands and lift her knees. She trembled as she tried to stop crying, or at least cry such that he couldn’t see.
Unable to summon the defiance to release her body sexually, she found release with tears. She didn’t know how long she sat crying with her back to the bathroom door.
A tentative knock catapulted her to a fighting stance.
It was only Clara with breakfast.
“I’m not hungry.”
After a beat, Clara trundled her cart away.
Mary undressed, then showered, trying to wash away the evidence of her physical need. When she emerged, she wrapped herself in one of the huge white towels.
House turned the lights on.
“I’ll order lights if I want them.”
House turned the lights off.
Washing out her gi pants, Mary thought back to when he’d pressed himself between her legs, and she’d damned those pesky layers of cotton, but she swore she could hear Kraft’s name on his lips as he breathed in tight gasps to her breasts.
Afraid of being a stand-in, or worse, becoming the flavor of the month, she asked him to stop. He didn’t hear her as he pinned her to the padded wall, but he heard her say please.
When he pulled away, looking down into her face, she became even more confused. Fury turned his face red and his breath bellowed like fire. When he swore, and set her down, she realized her perception was dead-on. Commander was livid. No doubt, his legion of sophisticated lovers had given right in, tossing up their pretty dresses to line his vast closets. He must think her a naïve girl, and she hated to admit the truth, but that’s exactly what she was.
They’d been sparring and suddenly they’d been all over each other. She couldn’t remember exactly how or why that happened. He didn’t make her because she wanted to, but then she was frightened and confused. Was this seduction for seduction’s sake? Had he made her body Kraft’s in his mind? In addition, there was that information he wanted to seduce out of her.
How could she trust anything Commander said or did? She’d be an idiot to fall into his trap. He wanted her surrender just so he could hold her foolishness over her head.
She clutched the edge of the sink and hissed every swear word in every language she knew when she realized everything that had happened was her own fault for giving in to the temptation to kiss him. For a first kiss, it had been a doozy. He had tasted so good, she literally lost her mind and forgot all about her goal. More than just dangerous, Commander could spell doom not only to her, but to the millions of innocent people she fought to save.
“I’ve got to get out of here!”
After his brief and bitter shower, Michael dressed in his customary black Byzantine leather and red Dardinian silk. Usually, he liked the way the fabrics looked on him and the way they stroked against his body. Today, the luxurious textures only reminded him of how unsatisfied he felt. No amount of showering would abate his rampaging lust for Mary.
Barefoot, he strode to the solarium.
His pants crimped his erection when he sat at the decadent table. He adjusted himself, then picked at his breakfast, trying to understand the morning reports.
He gave up after five minutes.
“House, tell me where Mary is.”
“Mary is in the bathroom off the salmon-colored bedroom, Commander,” House responded, ever precise and obedient.
“Is the door locked?”
“Yes, Commander.”
He grimaced. He wanted to talk to Mary. Apologize. Explain. But he feared if he got near enough to smell her, he would press her to the nearest wall and do his best to compel her to his bed. She evoked a passion in him he could barely control. He tried again to will his erection to subside, but it was like trying to read a book with his butt; wasn’t going to happen, not unless he could make hindsight literal and not figurative.
He ordered breakfast sent to her room.
She refused the offer through the locked bathroom door.
After changing back into a pair of gi pants, he spent four hours pummeling his dojo dummies, trying to burn off his desire. Breathless, on the floor, he ordered lunch sent to her room.
Mary refused to open the bathroom door. She told Clara to go away.
Michael spent another three hours beating the crap out of the dummies in his dojo. Sweaty, exhausted, he stumbled his way to the shower, only to find his fist still didn’t release the torment of his desire.
Craving a glass of whisky the size of a tartmelon, he exhausted himself in physical ways in the dojo, but couldn’t soothe his need for Mary, no matter how many times he took a shower. His unquenchable craving to taste her scent filled him with fear. What would happen to him if he could never fully know her? The torture would kill him.
Michael sent dinner to her room.
Mary screamed “Go away!” to Clara through the still closed and locked bathroom door.
Michael retreated to his office. He sat on his desk in the dark and looked at his array of sensors. At his command, a spotlight fixed on his favorite painting: Pyrrhic victory. Bold slashes of red, orange and black oil paint rendered success, defeat and revenge in the making.
Atop his desk, still semi-hard, assessing his empire, he thought only of Mary. He smelled her all around him. His body ached, and he wanted to put an end to this torture by forcing her to his bed. In the same breath, he wanted her to beg him to make love to her. He wanted to know her. Know her secrets and her reasons. Know he
r mind, body, and soul. What started as a game of seduction had morphed into a need so profound, the compulsion staggered him. A smart man would set her free. A dumb man would fall in love with her. A crazy man would try to possess the full of her.
“Call me crazy.” He cast his gaze over his shoulder to the hidden bar, longing for a drink to cushion the confusion in him. If he used alcohol to wipe away the stench of his past or the lingering essence of Mary, he couldn’t participate fully in his future or the joy of actually possessing Mary. He turned his back on the bar with a deep sigh.
Mary defied, baffled, compelled, and frustrated him. He’d met all kinds during his life, but never anyone like her. She was strong, yet weak in surprising and teasing ways, vulnerable ways. He could destroy her if he chose to do so and destroy himself in the process: a Pyrrhic victory.
“I could order you bound to my bed, and you’d enjoy my aggression as much as I would enjoy control.”
His gaze settled on the audvid that showed her still closed and locked bathroom door. He could kick that door down with one well-placed blast.
As much as the thought of possessing her thrilled him on a sexual level, control disturbed him on an emotional one. He could overwhelm her and force her to submit to him. Her beautiful eyes damn near begged him to overpower her. She wanted him to take control, and he knew it, but she couldn’t let herself give in. She feared her own passion, feared that she found his aggression arousing.
Captor and captive. Control and submission. As much as he wanted to possess her, she wanted the same damn thing, but he couldn’t. Once the desire between them erupted, then faded, she would have regrets and blame him. He couldn’t bear to see hatred in her eyes, or hear disdain flow from her vicious tongue.
He let his gaze drift to his painting again, but a flicker across the audvid drew his attention. Mary opened the bathroom door, darted across the floor, and threw herself into bed. One glance of her terrified eyes over the edge of the covers made him turn the audvid off.
He ordered all the office lights off. He sat on his desk in the dark. Repeatedly he felt an urge to stride into her bedroom. Repeatedly he fought the urge down. In the end, he left his office behind and went to the locker-room shower.
Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 Page 10