by Vonna Harper
Letting her arms drop to her sides, she kept them there even when her fingers curled into fists and her nails dug into her palms. Pain, she was learning, bore similarities to sexual arousal, and both sensations called for her undivided attention.
He was touching her again, not taking hold of her shoulders this time but placing his hands where hers had been. The contrast between her soft palms and his calloused ones on her breasts made her belly clench. Holding her breath and loving the warmth spiraling out and down, she made short work of her slacks’ button and zipper. Being freed from the constricting fabric around her waist was wonderful, and she rewarded herself by stroking her belly. Smiling just a little—a wonderful thing to see—Mato ducked his shoulders and head, pushing up on her left breast at the same time.
She knew what was going to happen, felt his moist breath slide over her breast even before the contact was made. He had her, had imprisoned her in his mouth, and being a captive made her want to howl with delight. Grinding her knuckles over her belly, she pushed her response into high gear. Her legs were weakening, in danger of giving way! But if she started to fall, surely her captor would catch her.
Captor? Hopefully now only in her mind.
He was picking her up, holding her against his chest, striding over to the couch and dropping her onto it with her slacks clinging to her hips. Even before she stopped bouncing, she tried so sit up so she could tug at the unwanted garment, but he beat her to the act and yanked with such force that he nearly pulled her off the couch. Gripping the cushion, she struggled to concentrate on his expression. Her earlier belief that an animal lurked just beneath the surface slammed back into her, alarming and exciting her.
Mato was on the edge, standing on the brink between rational human and wild instinct, but was she any more civilized? Throwing caution high and far, she again tried to sit up. This time she managed to wrap her arms around him and pull him down on top of her.
Granted, he was kneeling on the carpet, but his upper body blanketed her, pinning her down. Letting loose a faint growl, she ran her teeth over his chin. The pressure on her chest increased, letting her know he was determined to control her, but even as a thin slice of fear chased through her, she met him fierce for fierce.
Squirming under him, she ran her nails down his spine while he arched upward. Wanting and yet not wanting freedom, she clung to him as she continued her assault on his chin. Then his weight shifted, and suddenly her mouth was on his.
Rough and harsh, she gave and took, whimpered and moaned. Over and over again he pressed his lips against hers as if trying to crush her, and when she was on the brink of begging for release, he suddenly turned gentle.
His lips now barely brushing hers undid her, reduced her to a quivering puddle of need and hidden tears. Whether he was more man or beast now didn’t matter—nothing did except these rare, tender moments. Eyes closed against the tears trying to break free, she sent him her gratitude via light caresses on his spine. Could he tell she was growing weaker and softer and more pliable? Her body flowed and floated, heated by need. She no longer contemplated the past or questioned the future because her world consisted of the larger body covering hers and the exquisite tattoo of kisses.
He cared, no matter what Hawk Spirit had done and might yet do to her. Mato cared about her, and she thanked the man by offering him everything.
When he finally put an end to the heady exploration of mouth to mouth and drew her upright, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hearing his heart beating and feeling his lungs’ give and take. Even with the strong need for sex, she was content to float in the heated pool they’d created. There was no watching mortal hawk, no powerful spirit creature with its talons buried in this man’s soul—just male and female.
Sex, she needed sex. With him. Gentle and frenzied, the extremes flowing into one and feeding both of them.
Reluctant but determined, she pushed back and planted her feet on the carpet. When she stood, her head spun, forcing her to briefly close her eyes while his hands, now around her waist, kept her upright. Then, need pushing her on, she sank to her knees before him. If her fingers hadn’t become numb, she would have made short work of his jeans. As it was, she tugged awkwardly until he took pity on her and completed the job, taking his shorts down at the same time.
Naked. Both of them.
She’d taken hold of his cock and was about to place her mouth around the gift when he joined her on the carpet. Then, somehow, they were both stretched out on their sides, limbs tangled, his cock flattened between them and her pussy pulsing in anticipation. Fire danced through her, igniting flame after flame to keep her in motion.
Moments later he rolled onto his back and brought her with him so she now lay on top of him. Infused with even greater need and courage, she straddled his thighs so his cock rested, sleek and potent, against her belly.
Could she? Would he let her?
To hell with questions and doubt—it was her turn. On top. Calling the shots!
Sitting upright and then lifting herself as high as her legs allowed, she guided his rod between her legs. Then, although ruby fire lapped at her senses, breasts, and throat, she counted off the seconds with his tip at her entrance. Waited. Lived through the sweet torture.
As soon as she started to sink down, he’d slide into her and she’d be lost, wonderfully, hopelessly lost. For now she wrapped anticipation around her. Small but insistent sparks rocked her, and she took the mini climaxes as gifts from the man who’d changed her world.
“Do it,” he hissed. Gripping her hips, he pushed her onto him. There. That delicious and always new invasion, tissues being stretched, privacy stripped away.
Joined. Two bodies into one.
Her hands splayed over his chest for balance; she looked down at her captive, the male animal she’d pushed to the ground and now controlled. Only, even as she ran the erotic notion around in her mind, she acknowledged that she was the one owned, not the owner. She might be on top, but his strength was greater, and her throbbing need had rendered her helpless.
Didn’t matter. Fuck. Just fuck.
Why hadn’t she considered this, she acknowledged seconds later with her thigh muscles burning from the effort of gliding her pussy up and down his cock. Being on top had been a worthy goal, but now that she’d achieved it, she might not last until the explosion. Just the same, the primal beast she’d become whipped her on.
Sudden pain, sharp bursts grinding against her hips. Yanked from the everything that was sex, she realized his fingernails were digging into her flesh. She couldn’t, wouldn’t entertain that he might be deliberately hurting her. Rather, his own needs must have rendered him oblivious to what he was doing. Grabbing his wrists, she pulled them off her.
As soon as she released him, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her chest down to him. He remained in her, his hard strength now pressing against the front of her channel and giving her exciting new sensations to deal with. Concerned she might be bending his cock in ways cocks weren’t designed to bend, she tried to straighten, but instead of letting her do so, he rolled onto his side, taking her with him.
Now they lay facing each other, her leg looped over his, her breasts skimming his chest, and his breath slipping into her hair. Whether it was day or night didn’t matter—neither did her nearly empty stomach, thanks to her interrupted meal. There was just the two of them primitively bound together, skin sealed to skin. Not moving.
That couldn’t be, shouldn’t be! Not with her inner fire raging.
“All right, all right!” she gasped. “Just—do it.”
“What?”
“Get on top.” She almost added damn it, but it wasn’t his fault that she lacked the finesse to get the job done with her in that position. At least she’d issued the order, right?
Holding her so close and tight she couldn’t breathe, he pinned her under him. He was still in her, still the invader; that’s all that mattered!
Pulling his arms out from und
er her, he planted his hands on the carpet and rose up, robbing her of so much. Staring up at the formidable form over her, she ran her fingers over his taut forearms. Instinct arched her back and bent her knees and was responsible for the high, bleating sound she kept making when he pounded into her.
Rough, yes, hard and fast, sweat blooming on both of them, her back and thighs straining with the effort of matching him. Her pussy filled almost to bursting, only to all but empty as he drew away. Again and again he came at her, his greater strength shaking her and changing her bleating to harsh cries.
Her body became a blur, every inch of her caught up in the act of fucking, and even when her back and thighs begged for relief, she dug deep for the power to match him.
There! The reason for everything! Proving herself—courage and strength and determination all flowing together. And the explosions. A harsh, sudden one followed immediately by another. Then everything ran into a whole, gasping and sweating and holding him deep and tight within her while she broke apart, splintered and evaporated.
Exhaustion gripped and then shook her, causing her to sink, panting, onto the carpet like some rag doll.
But he wasn’t done. He kept after her, pounding until suddenly he became a tightly coiled spring.
Then the spring snapped. And he erupted in her.
Howled.
20
A little after nine the next morning, Mato was outside when he heard a familiar vehicle bouncing over the gravel road leading to his place. Knowing his uncle was coming made him clench his teeth and returned weight to his shoulders. How long had he been lost in Smokey Powers’s spell? He remembered, vaguely, yesterday, followed by a night of almost no sleep and so much sex he now felt as if he’d been in a marathon. He’d left her sleeping in the bed—that would never feel the same to him—because, tired as he was, he needed to be out where hopefully his head would clear.
Now, however, he wished he could hide from the responsibility represented by his uncle’s old pickup.
Too-short seconds later, he was forced to face not just Uncle Tal but his father as well. The two climbed down from the high cab and walked toward him, matching step for step. Uncle Tal had been little more than a year old when his father was born, and the two were so close in appearance and mannerisms some people took them for twins.
Instead of accepting Mato’s reluctant invitation to come inside, the two older men stood at the bottom of the stairs, prompting him to join them. As had long been their way, he hugged his father and then his uncle, the air of age in both men warning him of how soon he’d have to pick up the full mantle of responsibility.
“Where is she?” his father asked in his direct way.
“Inside.” Mato deliberately didn’t look back at the house.
“Doing what?”
“Sleeping,” he said because he couldn’t lie.
“As your captive?”
“No. Not any longer.”
“Why not?” Uncle Tal asked, his eyes saying he already knew the answer. “We know what your spirit demanded of you.”
“She isn’t what I thought she’d be,” he started and then stopped. How could he explain what he’d been through when he didn’t understand it himself? “Maybe it’s me who isn’t what I thought I was, what my spirit needs me to be. I’m a man, and as one…my flesh is weak.”
“No weaker than any man,” Uncle Tal said softly. “Mato, I know what you’re going through because I’ve stood where you are.”
In many ways, yes, but his uncle’s loyalty to this land and his spirit had been different in one key respect: a compelling and sexy woman hadn’t been at the core.
“Why are you here?” he asked. If he were still a child, he could ask his elders for advice, but because those years were behind him, trying to shift the subject was easier than exposing his weakness.
The brothers exchanged a look. Then his father pulled a folded newspaper page out of his back pocket and handed it to him. He recognized it as the paper Smokey wrote for. It bore today’s date. “Have you read this?” his father asked.
A newspaper had been the last thing on his mind, which he suspected his father knew. Not bothering to respond, he read the piece the editor-in-chief had written.
Our own award-winning correspondent, Smokey Powers, has been keeping a low profile lately, for good reason. She’s been pursuing what she has assured me is the most comprehensive and thought-provoking story of her career. The result of her meticulous interviewing and research skills will soon grace the pages of this newspaper. As a result of a little arm twisting on my part, I am delighted to attest that she’s about to knock our socks off. Not one to spill the beans, I’ll leave readers with one small hint:
Things are not as they appear on the outside in a small coastal community. The truth will have you locking your doors, and more.
The overwriting aside, Mato was convinced the editor had accomplished his goal because people would be buying the newspaper in anticipation of a rare piece of journalism—about Storm Bay’s secrets.
Gathering courage and more around him, he faced his relatives. No, he hadn’t imagined the weary resignation in Uncle Tal’s eyes, and he believed it was because if Smokey wrote her article, everything their ancestors had done and risked would be for nothing. His people’s right to this land would be forced to end. So-called progress would destroy it.
All because of her.
“I don’t have the words,” Uncle Tal said. “My whole life I accepted my spirit’s need for me and am proud of the time I chained myself to trees to protect them from loggers, but it isn’t my role to command you to do the same. I’m not walking in your path.”
Sensing his father’s piercing gaze, he turned to him. “Say it. I need to hear what you’re thinking.”
Uncle Tal had looked resigned; in contrast, his father’s face radiated commitment, as it always had. Strange that two men who shared so much faced the most compelling commitments in their lives so differently. Where Uncle Tal had always struggled with his responsibilities, his father had been defined by them.
“My phone started ringing at dawn,” his father said. “It was still ringing when I left the house. Everyone who called said the same thing.”
Used to his father’s measured speech, he waited for him to continue. As he did, his thoughts slid to Smokey, who he prayed was still sleeping, still oblivious.
“The article can’t happen.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Other people might ask how he intended to back up his words, but not his father. How well his father knew him, he acknowledged as the silent seconds stretched. Yes, this man who’d held him as a newborn read his mind, but it was more than that because in many respects he also shared his son’s emotions—as Mato hoped to do someday with his own children.
“At times you’ve called your position here a curse,” his father said. “And when you first comprehended what being a member of our family meant, you—”
“I put my fist through your door.”
The brothers nodded in unison, causing Mato to belatedly note their similar attire—jeans at the end of their lifespan, flannel shirts thin at the elbows, cracked boots. The message was simple: their lives were hard. And yet neither man would ever want anything except what Storm Bay offered.
“Your spirit commanded you to kill her,” Uncle Tal muttered.
How did you know? he nearly asked, but Spirit was a predator. Of course that would be his response to a threat.
If I fail in my mission, my father or uncle might be forced to kill her. Or me.
His father placed his smaller, dryer hand on Mato’s forearm, drawing Mato from his thoughts. “We didn’t come here to repeat your spirit’s wisdom. Even with what’s developed between you and that woman”—he jerked his head at the house—“my brother and I will never doubt you carry your spirit’s words in your heart. What we want,” he squeezed, “is to help you understand how powerful the spirit’s hold is.”
So I’
ll stop fighting it and become my spirit’s warrior?
Suddenly so exhausted he didn’t trust himself to continue standing, he sank onto the bottom step. After a moment his father and uncle joined him. The sun was high enough that it was pushing shadows into the corners, and as such nothing stood between him and his visitors’ expressive, lined faces. They weren’t old, but their strength was fading, and so they’d begun turning certain things over to the next generation—him.
“Our father, your grandfather, died when you were a young boy,” his uncle started. “We tried to keep him alive in your mind, but we’re not sure how much we succeeded.”
Loving his uncle for the way he’d taken over what his father had begun, he nodded. “I remember Grandfather showing me how to fish using a spear. I wish I’d had more patience, but I wanted to use what everyone else was using.”
“You know why he insisted, don’t you?”
“So I’d know what the old ways were like.” Although he tried to conjure up memories of his grandfather, his mental images of the man remained fuzzy. Not only had Grandpa died when he was seven, the older man had been distant and preoccupied. Mato had sometimes wondered if his grandfather had been clinically depressed because he couldn’t remember him ever laughing.
“You know,” His father cleared his throat. “You know his spirit was a cougar.”
So that’s where this was going; he should have known. Wishing with everything in him that they didn’t go down this road, he nevertheless nodded.
“And what his spirit commanded him to do.”
Don’t say it! If you don’t, maybe you’ll be spared. “To kill,” he said because he had no choice.
His father nodded, the gesture causing his thinning hair to fly about. “I know you’ve read what little’s been written about that death; we all have. But it is never talked about when we get together; have you ever wondered why?”
Of course he had. At first his youthful imagination had worked to fill in the blanks, and then later he’d forced himself to try to put himself in his grandfather’s position in preparation for the same mantle of responsibility, but his older relatives’ silence had sent the message that he wasn’t to ask for details. “No one was with him when it happened,” he said. “And I don’t believe it was something Grandfather wanted to talk about.”