“Don’t,” I said. “Just don’t, Black.” I swallowed, shaking my head. “Don’t.”
He nodded, closing his gold, tiger-like eyes.
I heard him swallow again.
I felt him wanting to touch me. I felt him wanting it so fucking badly, but he didn’t. He lay there, as if waiting. I remembered him telling me once it was different for seers where he was from. I remembered him telling me the males usually waited for the females to touch them first. I remembered seeing him as a kid through his mind, through his memories.
I remembered how he’d felt.
That survival thing was on him still. It clung to him, to his light.
That willingness to do whatever it took to stay alive, to survive, to beat the fuckers who wanted to break him––it never left. That willingness to bend any rules, to break anything he had to break just to stay alive, to hit back, it was ingrained in his light, in his mind, in his body.
It marked him, just like they marked him.
I felt him hungry, starving.
I felt him surrounded by seers and humans who were bigger than him, who hurt him unless he hurt them back. I felt him calculating, thinking, deciding to live. I felt him protecting the seers smaller than him, especially––
Coreq.
Especially Coreq. Black protected Coreq.
He called him brother.
Looking at the small-boned seer with the huge dark eyes, I realized I knew him. I knew his light, his presence. I recognized the mind of the young seer who hero-worshipped Black, who Black did his best to keep alive, despite how the guards targeted him.
I knew those blue-black eyes, that streaked hair, the frail body.
Both of them looked maybe five or six years old in human years––but the smaller one, Coreq, looked younger from being so small. Without knowing how I knew, I knew they were both closer to fifteen than five. I knew they looked out for each other, loved each other.
I knew Black mostly looked out for him.
Looking at those dark eyes, I knew Black had nightmares about Coreq still.
I knew he carried shame about Coreq. I knew he felt responsible for when they came and took Coreq away, turning him into––
That part, I didn’t understand.
They turned him into… something.
Like a machine, but not. Something alive but not. Something with presence, with light, with a mind and heart and soul… but not.
Whatever that something was, Black was sure it brought him here.
Black was sure his childhood friend was the reason he was on this Earth now.
The machine lived on the door. Coreq lived in the machine.
Somehow, Coreq opened the door.
In the end, it was his friend who saved him.
Black blamed himself for losing that friend, all those years ago. He blamed himself, even though they were both slaves, even though they were both practically infants in seer age. He blamed that strong survivalist core of his light for letting Coreq go. He blamed that throbbing, desperate need to live, believing it sacrificed his friend to save himself.
That same friend, who had no reason to save him, saved him anyway.
That same friend, who Black let the guards take away, was better than him, even in death.
I gripped his hair tighter.
That gold light swam through both of us now, blinding me, making it impossible to see him, yet somehow binding me to him, too. I felt him more than I ever had, but he was washed out in that gold and white light, invisible to me.
He didn’t speak. I felt him want to speak.
I felt his mind working along straighter lines from being more awake, even as the wash of light confused him, sending his emotions in a tilting spiral as he fought to see me. I felt him wonder how I got there, how I got into the house. I felt him worry that I’d come at night. I felt him worry about vampires and Wolf and if I was suicidal, coming alone. I felt him wonder why I was there, if I’d come to tell him it was over, if I’d come to tell him to leave me alone.
I felt him wanting to touch me.
“Gods, Miri.” Pain rippled off his light. “Just do what you’re going to do. Say what you’re going to say. Just do it, please. Please.”
I bit my lip.
For a long moment, I just lay there, unable to see him really, unable to feel anything but him. His thoughts and light darted through mine, grew indistinguishable with mine.
I don’t know when I started touching him again.
I had my hand on his chest. Then I was caressing him, touching him, massaging his shoulder, his neck, his arm, his chest, his face. I drew his image out of the dark with my fingers, and he lay there, unmoving, breathing harder under my fingers. His pain worsened to unbearable as I kept touching him, until I felt another plume of emotion expand off his light, hitting at me with a near-violence.
His fingers were in my hair then, clenching and letting go as he shifted closer to me on the mattress. His mouth found mine, kissing me with his light and his lips before his teeth and mouth found my throat. He pulled on me with his light, fighting to breathe, and when I didn’t stop him, he rolled on top of me, pinning me to the mattress with his weight.
Pain rippled off him as he bit me again, harder, making me gasp before he gripped my wrist, ripping open the front of my jeans, yanking them down me with both of his hands while he pinned my upper body with his chest.
A heavier groan came out of him as he fought to get off his shirt.
I was helping him then, yanking down the shorts he wore, gripping his back, digging my nails into him when I bit his shoulder, not far from where he’d bit me.
A flare of light came off him, desperation, an urgency that paralyzed my mind.
He gripped the tank top, ripping it off my body, yanking it over my head.
He held my hips then, and I felt that survival thing on him again. I felt him holding me there, that harder thread of desperation and fight worsening. He maneuvered his body between my legs, and his pain got so bad I gasped, gripping his arms.
I felt him concentrating then, fighting to retract.
When I realized what he was doing, I let out another low gasp, digging my nails into his arms, then his shoulders. Then I was trying to help him, using my light, fighting to distract him from me, from my body, from what we were trying to do.
I fought to pull him into that more logical part of his mind, the part that didn’t care about this. I knew some part of him didn’t care about this. I knew that, because I knew Black.
I knew that more logical part of his light and mind.
One thing I’d learned about Black in the past few months: part of him was always planning, thinking, calculating a million miles away from me.
“Fuck you,” he gasped.
He looked up, his gold eyes visible through the Barrier. His voice was deep––so deep it shocked me. He let out a low groan, and that time, I felt him on the verge of tears.
“…Fuck you, Miri.”
I gripped his hair, but he wouldn’t look at me now.
He was fighting to concentrate, fighting to close off his light so he could fuck me.
I knew that’s what this would be.
We would fuck. We would fuck, because it was inevitable that we would fuck.
“Fuck you,” he growled, that pain audible in his voice. “You don’t know shit. You don’t know shit about me. You don’t know a goddamned thing…”
His pain spiked, and he fell silent, closing his eyes.
His fingers clenched in my hair, hard enough to hurt.
Even in that, some part of him could only think about being inside me.
I felt him working at it, trying to remember how he’d done it before. I felt that desperation on him worsen, even as his anger worsened too. Anger at me. Anger that I’d left him. Anger that I’d betrayed him, that I hadn’t realized he’d done it for me.
Anger that he’d been trying––that he’d been trying to make things right for me, for us.
I gripped his arms and he groaned, fighting harder to control his light, his mind.
I don’t know how long we hung there like that.
I don’t know how long it took him to realize he couldn’t control his body.
In the end, I was caressing him all over, stroking his face, his chest, his ribs and belly, his cock. I’d forgotten how big he was. His whole fucking body was big. His light was big, his mind, his heart, his chest, his arms, his cock. His presence washed over me, bigger than mine, and I closed my eyes, wrapping my hands around him, my arms.
He swallowed me.
He’d swallowed me since I met him.
“That’s bullshit.” Pain infused his voice. “You’re so full of shit, Miri.”
I wrapped my arms around him tighter, around his back, his shoulders, wrapping my legs around his, coiling one around his waist.
For a long-feeling moment, we just lay there.
I don’t know when I realized he was crying.
By then, I could barely distinguish his light from mine.
I could barely distinguish his skin from mine.
His light washed over me, mixing with that gold light, blinding me.
I found myself caressing his cock, bringing his pain back––violently that time.
He thrust his whole body against me, against my hand, and his pain hit at me like a physical force, sucking the breath from my lungs, stopping my mind. I kept massaging him, harder now, until he was groaning against my ear, leaning his whole weight on me, his arms wrapped around my body, his fingers clenched in my hair.
His light opened. It opened so much, I got lost there.
It grew softer the longer I stroked his cock. His control slid away from him and his body softened too, growing heavier on mine. His light slid into me like water, enveloping me––merging into me.
It seeped through my skin, hitching my breath, making me hold him tighter.
“I love you,” I told him.
I whispered it.
I said it so quiet, I don’t know how he heard it.
He did hear it, though.
He came.
I gripped him tighter when I felt him lose control.
He leaned into me, letting out a low, heavy cry. His cock throbbed under my fingers as he let go, as I continued to caress him with the hand I didn’t have wrapped around his back, coiled into his hair. He came for a long time––it seemed to go on for a long time.
He rolled his weight onto mine before he’d finished, half-groaning, fighting to control his breath, pinning me against the mattress, using every part of his body now to trap me under him. His hands gripped my hips, yanking me further under him as he forced my legs apart. He caressed my face, putting his light into me, putting so much of his light into me.
Briefly, his forehead leaned against mine.
I felt fear on him, longing, a surge of pain that caught in my throat all over again.
Somehow, my anger was gone.
All of it was just––gone.
When he entered me, I let out a shocked gasp, arching up against him.
His hands wrapped around me, tightened, pulling him further inside me. He hung there, unmoving for a few seconds, arching into me as far as he could, gasping against my neck. He held me almost carefully, despite how much of his weight pressed into me, despite how deep he was. His fingers wrapped into my hair, his other hand gripping my ass as his body angled deeper into mine.
When he raised his head, I looked up.
Somehow, I could see his eyes. They shone at me through all that light.
Glassed, they shone with the gold light of the Barrier storm.
For a long moment, neither of us moved, or spoke.
Then I found myself breaking that silence.
“If you do it again, I’m not coming back,” I said, shaking my head. “If it happens again, I’m not coming back, Black. Not ever.”
He froze. His breath stopped as he stared at me.
Then he was breathing harder, his heart throbbing against my bare chest.
“Miri––”
I shook my head. “Don’t. I know you think it’s an idle threat. I know you think I don’t mean it, that I can’t possibly mean it because of the bond––”
“I don’t think it’s idle,” he said, panting, leaning his forehead against mine. “I don’t think it’s idle, Miri. I don’t.”
I heard the fear in his voice. I heard the desperation there.
I also heard the relief.
Realizing he’d heard me, that he understood, I nodded.
I considered saying more, explaining more. I considered asking him if he agreed, making him answer me in actual words. I considered making him say it out loud.
Then I realized there was no need.
He understood me. He understood me just fine.
His fingers tightened in my hair.
He lowered his mouth, cautious, his light a near-question. When I tilted my face up, answering him without words, he kissed me. He put so much light in his tongue and lips and breath I gasped against his mouth, my fingers digging into his back, gripping his arm, pulling him further around me. I wrapped my legs around him tighter and he was breathing harder again, leaning his weight, wrapping his arms around my back.
He arched into me, slowly, without raising his mouth, or his head.
He groaned when he got to the end of me. That groan grew denser as he angled deeper into me––deep enough, it felt like he went through me.
Still kissing me, he extended.
I cried out, pressing up against him as both of us broke out in a sweat.
He groaned again, then he was angling into me, harder. He opened so much that gold light flooded into me, wiping out my physical sight, making me light-headed.
“Open to me, Miri.” He kissed my face, clenching his hand in my hair. “Open to me. Please. Please, goddamn it.”
His fingers hurt, but I wanted him to pull harder.
I wanted him to pull harder, fuck me harder, bite me, hurt me. I wanted that sharp part of his cock all the way inside me.
He let out a heavier groan.
“Open to me.” His voice grew deep, that low, heavy tone that drove me crazy, that only came out when he was like this. He pressed his face against mine. “Miri, open… open your fucking light… open your light now…”
I felt the meaning behind that, too.
If I was back, I was back.
He wanted his wife back.
Not just part of me. He’d heard my conditions. He’d heard my ultimatum. He’d heard me that I meant it. He’d heard that line I’d drawn between us, never to be crossed again.
He’d accepted it.
He’d agreed to it.
Now he wanted all of me. He wanted all of me now.
No, not want. It wasn’t want. That word didn’t feel right.
It didn’t feel like want––maybe not for either of us.
Need felt too absolute, but it was closer.
When I closed my eyes, feeling it on him, on me, it felt like he was going to lose his shit if I didn’t come all the way back to him. It felt like he was going to flip out, like his light was going to spiral out of control, shift his mind off its axis.
I had no idea what that might look like.
I wasn’t afraid of him. I wasn’t afraid he would hurt me. Even so, I could feel it would be bad. I could feel the intensity behind it, the vulnerability, the desperation.
I could feel that survival thing.
I could feel the younger Black, and I realized he needed me, too.
He needed me. He would have given me anything I asked for.
He was ready to give me anything––without question, without argument, without conditions, no matter what I asked for. Instead of touching me, or making me feel safer with him, the realization scared me. I wasn’t sure I wanted that kind of power over anyone.
I wasn’t sure I wanted that kind of power over him.
It also made me wonder if he had that much power over me.
But I knew the answer to that, too.
I’d left Hawaii and come to New Mexico when he called. I’d pushed back earlier by telling him not to contact me, not to call, not to come to me, but when he did call, when he actually asked, I came to him within hours. I’d gotten on a plane within hours, without even debating it much in my mind. I’d taken two planes to get to him, leaving in the middle of the night to get here sooner, despite what he’d done, despite how pissed off I was at him.
That was the real reason I hadn’t let him call me.
That was the real reason I told him to leave me alone, to not call, to not come to me, to not send me anything, to not talk to me in my mind, to not try to convince me to come back. That was the real reason I’d gone to Hawaii. I knew what would happen. I’d always known. The only protection I’d had was to cut him off totally, to get his voice out of my head.
Even now, it was me who came to him.
Even tonight, I’d come to him.
I’d driven half the night, just like I’d flown all night to reach him before.
“Miri.” He kissed my face, pluming his heat into my chest, closing my eyes. “If you can’t be with me like that, tell me.” His voice was gruff, deep enough that my fingers tightened on his arms. “Tell me if you can’t, Miri. Tell me, and I’ll stop this.”
Raising his head, he averted his gaze before looking at me again.
“I can’t just fuck right now,” he said, gruff. “I know you think I can, but I can’t. I’ll lose it. I’ll lose my fucking mind… so if that’s all you want from me, tell me to stop. I’ll get you off. I promise I’ll get you off, but I can’t do it like this. I’ll go down on you, use my fingers… whatever you want. But I can’t do it like this. I can’t. Please don’t ask me to.”
My fingers found his face.
I did it without thinking, without trying to think.
Releasing his arms, I traced his cheekbones, sliding my hand into his hair.
I touched his jaw, turning his face and eyes back towards me, asking him silently to look at me. He did, and his pain instantly worsened, stuttering my heart, catching in my chest.
Gods. He was beautiful.
Black To Dust_A Quentin Black Paranormal Mystery Page 21