by Inez Kelley
A collective grunt of relief echoed. Vike nearly kissed her feet. His ass was numb from the chair and his muscles ached with lethargy. Forsaken were meant to move, to fight and kill, not sit and chew the fat. Sela left first. Nomad and Myth, deeply involved in conversation, trailed her with Omen plodding behind. Vike reached his arms over his head, shoulders popping with the move.
“I’m stiff.”
“I’m sure Lacy won’t mind.” Dray snickered. “Before long, she’ll have us all as pussy whipped as you.”
“I’m not pussy whipped.” He smacked the light switch and caught the amusement on Rex’s face. “What’s your problem?”
“Me? No problem.” Rex pulled the door shut, hiding his grin.
“I’m not pussy whipped!”
“Sure you’re not…Erik.” Rex scoffed then singsonged in falsetto, “Dinner’s ready, Erik. No wet clothes at my table, Erik.”
Dray exploded in laughter. He punched the elevator button and leaned on the wall holding his sides. Sela’s mystical powers prevented any Awoken from Leaping in or out of the sacred subterranean floor, trapping Vike with his teasers.
He growled. “It’s my name and she’s being nice. Sela told me to be charming, remember?”
“Dude, charming has a limit. You went shopping. I bet she has you waxing her legs before the week’s out,” Dray said as he and Rex stepped into the elevator.
Vike grudgingly joined them. “Just doing my job.”
“Tell me one thing.” The Roman didn’t bother to hide his enjoyment. “Does she let you pretend to be a man in bed or do you bend over for her, too?”
Vike jabbed the main floor button. “You go get bent. You’re the bisexual one.”
“Tri-sexual,” Rex corrected smugly. “I’ll try anything if it feels good. But no woman leads me by the balls.”
“I’ll tell Sela you said that.”
The smiles vanished from both faces. “She’s different.”
“She’s not a woman,” Dray barked at the same time.
“Nice backpedal, guys.”
The elevator stopped on the main floor. The common room was spotless. The leather couches gleamed, the tables were clutter free and the floors reflected the light from the freshly dusted overhead lights. A spicy fragrance hung in the air, overshadowing the lighter scents of cleaners and polishes. Myth angled over the counter from the kitchen.
“She made pulled pork. And more biscuits.”
Dray hightailed it for the kitchen. Rex squatted in front of the entertainment center and groaned. “She organized the movies in alphabetic order? King of Kings does not belong next to Kinky’s Sex Arcade. What the hell was she thinking?”
“She cleaned the bathroom,” Nomad grunted, coming into the room. “There’s a sign over the urinal that says ‘Aim Your Gun. Hit the Target’.”
“Speaking of guns.” Rex pulled a cardboard box from beside the couch. He lifted two handguns from the depths then raised a large survival knife from the depths. “Hey, Mad, she found Rambo.”
He lobbed the knife and one handgun toward Nomad, who caught them without a glance and tucked them into his sweatpants. He threw Vike the Beretta. Vike checked the safety before shoving it in the small of his back.
Rex sighed. “Damn, what the hell do you think went through her head when she found all this?”
“That she’s fucking some dope dealer.” Nomad scratched his stomach, rippling his “Bitchslap for everyone” tee. “You better lie and make it good, Vike. One fuck-up and we’ll have to dust her ass to keep her quiet.”
“Touch her and I’m gutting Omen and strangling you with his intestines.”
The iron-cold barrel of Nomad’s handgun ground against his lips. “How’d you like to deep-throat my Glock?”
Vike shoved the gun away. “Put that fucking thing away before Lacy sees it…again.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he murmured. “Make something up or slit her throat. If you don’t do it, Sela will.”
Vike refused to think about that possibility although he knew it was the truth. Dray carried in a plate heaped high with shredded meat, two rolls and a mound of creamy slaw. Vike snorted at his packed chipmunk-like cheeks. “Good, Dray?”
“Orgasmic. We need to keep her. She knows how to make Memphis sauce.” Dray shoveled in another mouthful and sat at the far end of the couch.
Rex glanced at the time on his phone. “I’m out of here. There’s this dude in Sarajevo who’s like the Billy Mays of hookups. Rub his ass and he’ll throw in a blow job absolutely free.”
“Well, that thought curdled my balls. I’m going to get some barbeque.” Nomad whistled and Omen followed him into the kitchen.
Vike could have just Leaped upstairs, normally did. The limitations on their ability to dematerialize were something he’d learned quickly. In the open air, they could Leap anywhere, across any ocean or landmass. But they couldn’t Leap into a building. Once they were inside, they could Leap from room to room all they liked, but Leaping from inside to outside was impossible.
Unless they were severely injured, they could transport anything up to their own weight. He and Myth jostled between who could help who since they were the biggest. Originally designed to protect mankind from supernatural interference, all it really did now was give the Forsaken some logistic challenges.
Instead, Vike used the quiet of the elevator ride and short walk to soothe his raging adrenaline. His apartment gleamed. Like downstairs, Lacy had worked her magic. The scent of lemon cleaner filled the air. The drapes were open, letting the harvest moon cast her blue-corn glow over the freshly vacuumed carpet.
His eyes lit on the kitchenette, on a teakettle and a toaster, appliances that hadn’t been there this morning. A flowery dishtowel lay beside the sink and a roll of paper towels hung on a new rack. The storage closet on the main floor had always held extra stuff like that, but he’d never felt the urge to grab any for himself. Apparently Lacy had.
He stepped out of his shoes and noticed a small braided rug beside the door. Her worn tennis shoes and the new ones he’d bought for her waited there along with the boots he’d kicked off sometime yesterday. He added his trainers to the neat row. Above them on the wall, his jacket hung on a new coat rack. Normally he just tossed it over the chair. A slow twitch spread into a smile. With just a few additions and a little care, his apartment became a home. Or maybe it was just that she was here.
“Hey, stranger.”
Lacy wore another of his shirts, a button-down sky blue this time, with only a single button below her navel holding it closed. The exposed center valley between her full breasts tugged his gaze down her body. Long trim legs poured from beneath the hem, the tails parted slightly against her creamy thighs yet hiding the most womanly part of her. In her hand, she held the green mug he’d bought. A soft orange flicker behind her suggested she’d lit candles in the bedroom and he could see the edge of the blankets turned back.
Blood rushed south and stiffened his cock, his balls tingling with anticipation. There were no stated rules against having sex with a Scion, or even a Scionim, but he knew it probably wasn’t the best idea. This could never lead anywhere. He didn’t have the luxury of romantic relationships. It could only be purely physical.
He knew it in his head. His body however, was listening to his dick, not his brain. His feet moved, crossing the distance until he was just in front of her. Close enough he could smell her tea, smell her scent, smell the promise that lingered in the air.
“I thought I was supposed to seduce you, a quest or something.”
She sipped deeply then smiled. “I took a shower using soap and shampoo that didn’t smell like a guy, used a fabulous lotion I normally can’t afford and now I’m drinking a wonderful tea from the perfect mug. No one tried to kill me today. I’d say I’ve been creatively and properly seduced.”
One edge of the shirt collar was bent, tucked under itself. He flicked it straight and let his hand stray to her neck. Beneath his touch, her pulse was racing. �
��You stole another one of my shirts.”
Her fingers slipped down the shirtfront, skimming her collarbone, her breasts, her stomach before toying with that one lone fastened button. “You didn’t buy me any pajamas. Do you want me to give it back?”
His lids grew heavy, desire clouding his vision until it focused on her fingers, those long lissome digits. “Take it off.”
She set the mug on the dresser then turned, keeping her gaze locked with his over her shoulder. The shirt slid down her arms, down her back, down her legs to pool at her feet. Her long honey-brown hair shimmered in the candlelight with streaks of gold and bronze. The glow lapped at her skin and his tongue grew jealous. The line of her spine led his gaze down to the perfect heart-shape of her ass.
Her skin felt like silk under his palms as he cupped her hips, bringing that ass back to his groin. Nuzzling her hair, he rocked his growing hard-on against her butt. Her head fell back against his shoulders. “Your jeans are rough.”
“I’m rough.” The low words fell off his tongue, carrying secrets and unspoken admissions. He rocked harder, holding her hips and grinding his zipper against her ass. Sound broke from her lips, a sigh or a moan. Whatever it was, it heated his blood. A shudder rippled up her spine and she pushed back against him like a cat in heat.
Heavy, soft breasts filled his palms. Her nipples were hard, but he rolled them, pinching them, drawing them to even stiffer peaks. “Be very, very sure you want this, Lace. If I fuck you, I won’t be gentle. I won’t be sweet.”
“Sweets make my teeth ache.” He squeezed her left breast and she gasped. “You make me ache more.”
He nipped her shoulder, dragged his tongue up her neck, nibbled at her ear. Deep inside him, his long-lost conscience stirred to life. She didn’t know what or who he was, how bad he could be. She was too good for him. “You’ll regret it.”
“Life’s too short for regrets.”
It wasn’t. Life wasn’t short. At least, his wasn’t. His was perhaps far too long. But hers was shorter and her losses so fresh, so utterly complete, that she needed something to cling to. Her hands came back, gripping his hips.
His long-quiet conscience faded beneath the rapid thud of his heart. He was no hero. The only thing he owed her was what her blessed blood demanded, protection. He’d protect her until his last breath, but he took what he wanted, when he wanted it. He wanted her. No force in creation could have stopped him from lowering Lacy to his bed.
A deep moan of anticipation warmed Lacy’s throat. So much had been taken from her the last few days, so much ugliness invaded her life, she was determined to grab on to all the joys left around her. Erik was the one bright spot in the vast stretch of devastation.
Erik covered her with his body, pressing all his wonderful hard parts to her aching soft ones. He was so deliciously heavy and male. His arousal pulsed between her thighs and her nipples drew taut as his hands slid across her breasts, kneading and cupping, pinching each tip until they ached. The bottom curve of his lip was made for her tongue and she slicked along it, tasting his longing as much as her own. He drove deep, claiming every corner of her mouth.
Everything vanished. Nothing existed but him. His shoulders were wide and strong, hard under her palms, but the callused hands that cupped her were tender. Her fingers burrowed into his hair, pulling him closer. Inside her, a warm place turned molten and soft.
“I need you,” she whispered.
Under her jaw, he sucked, his teeth scoring a perfect bite. “You’re going to get all of me, babe. Promise.”
She arched, wanting that promise. The denim strained across his erection and dug into her softest spot. Locking her legs around his waist, she rocked up into him. His purr of pleasure vibrated against her neck. He palmed her ass as her ankles crossed over the small of his back, her hips rolling. “Hurry.”
Sucking one crest deep into his mouth, Erik moaned. Her head swam and she let the current drag her along, getting lost in his taste, his smell, the feel of him pressed close. Wicked swirls of his tongue skated from one nipple to the other. Rubbing herself on the hard length behind his zipper, she poised at the edge of an orgasm, too soon and too short, but she wanted it, wanted him. She wanted no one but the scorching hot hero who kept her safe.
The weave of his thermal was butter-soft as she fisted it, yanking it up his back, needing to feel his skin. He let her pull the thermal off and, oh my, what beautiful skin it was. The bedroom curtains were open and frosty moonlight poured through, bathing the room in an icy glow. His skin took a bluish cast, more ethereal mist than living flesh. Her fingers played along the swells of his biceps, gliding over the axe and sword tattoo. A Celtic band wrapped around the other arm, a two-inch wide rope of twisting knots that flexed as he leaned over her.
She splayed her hands, halting him, enjoying her limited view. A knowing grin curled his lip and he laid back, holding her palm to his heart in wordless permission.
Her heart thrummed a fast beat and wet heat pulsed between her thighs. Sculpted lines called to her hands and she obeyed, learning the contours of his body. The thinnest patch of crisp hairs peppered the center of his chest and trailed downward in a narrowing line. Lacy let her fingers spread through it, feeling his warmth along the planes of muscles. Small flat nipples puckered at her touch. She traced one with her nail and a growl vibrated his chest. He liked that, so she did it again.
“Your hands feel incredible.”
An impish smile curved her mouth. “Kneading bread makes them strong.”
There wasn’t an ounce of wasted flesh on him. The rock-hard ridges in his stomach jumped as she followed that thinning line down to his navel. It was hard to breathe, the hunger, the desperate need to lose herself in his arms, to make him scream her name, tightened like a steel band around her. Power filled her. Around his ribs, over his shoulders, along his belly, she explored and caressed, first with her hands and then with her mouth.
“God, yes. Use your tongue.”
Sea salt, he tasted of spicy man and tangy sea salt. His hands buried in her hair as she licked across his stomach and delved into his navel. He held his breath when she popped the button on his jeans.
A groan peeled from his throat as he tugged her up and rolled her to her back. His visual caress stroked like a fingertip. Her heart fluttered as he crawled over her, like an animal, all supple grace and control. His mouth covered hers, marking his territory. Sharp teeth nipped her; her shoulder, her breast, her stomach, her navel. Never enough to sting, never enough to mark, just enough to tingle and make her very aware that she lay beneath a man of power and authority. Following his teeth came his tongue, swirling, tasting, turning her bones to liquid.
The silk-soft fall of his hair grazed her hip as he nuzzled her bikini line, his warm breath teasing her skin until gooseflesh broke along her belly. That heat was a promise of more to come. She desperately wanted more.
“Open for me, Lace. Let me see you.” Rough hands skated up her thighs, parted them and stroked the revealed slickness. “You’re so wet. I need to taste you.”
Erik didn’t lie. He wasn’t gentle but Lacy was too hungry for gentleness. Mindless pleasure rolled when he lowered his head and licked up the seam of her pussy. He lapped her clit, circling and flicking it until it beaded tight. Every cell in her body drew taut and her thighs quivered. Erik backed off, squeezing her butt and running the tip of his tongue along her folds in a slow trek.
Strong fingers penetrated deep, curling inside her and rocking against a sweet spot that snapped her head back to the pillow. Her hips vaulted closer to his mouth. He gave her no leeway, his fingers plunging hard inside her, his lips a tight seal around her sex. The driving rhythm sped her toward oblivion with hurricane speed. He took her to the very brink then backed off. Lacy bit her lip against begging. Broad, long licks kept her hovering somewhere between crazy and frantic, in that luscious middle ground.
A whimper threatened when he pulled his mouth away until a third finger stretched her
with a delicious burn. She hissed, riding that fine edge of pleasure and pain. His thumb slid up, rubbing across her clit in slow, maddening circles. A coil wound inside her, every muscle tensing for the release he refused to give her.
“Want to come for me, Lace?”
“Erik, please.”
“What do you want? This?” A fast thrust and feathering swoop of his thumb drew her need tighter. Orgasm hovered just out of reach.
“Or do you want this?”
His mouth fastened on her aching cleft and sent jolts of lightning up her spine. Rapid tongue flutters darted over her aching clit then he nipped it, drawing it between his lips. Sensation took over. Climax burst in an explosion and shattered into a thousand splinters.
Erik sucked hard, drawing it out, pushing deeper into oblivion. Lacy was beyond screaming, beyond calling his name, could do nothing but succumb to the waves. She fisted her hands in the sheet and let it consume her.
Aftershocks rippled through her for an eternity. Bones limp, gasping for air and blinking against the lingering stars, Lacy reached for him. Undiluted longing carved his face into a stony slab of gritted jaw and burning eyes. He ripped open his jeans and shoved them low on his hips.
Lacy swallowed a dry gulp. “Condom.”
He halted a fraction then leaned over her, jerking the nightstand drawer open. He pressed a packet into her hand. A gravelly decadence warmed his tone. “Do it, Lace. Put it on me so I can be —” he slipped two fingers between her legs and pressed inside her, “here.”
Her body clenched around his hand. She tugged his jeans lower. A bulge pushed at his underwear, straining outward. A darkened line was barely visible in the dim room and she inched the fabric down. He had a third tattoo. Far below his navel was a slanted swastika. Her fingers stopped.
“It’s not Nazi,” he whispered. “It’s a Fylfot, a Norse fire twirl. It’s for luck.”
Tracing the Fylfot, she marveled. It was luck that brought him into her life.
She shoved the underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and weighted. His head fell back as she circled the length with her palm and stroked. Now she knew why he’d pushed her with three fingers. Thick and heavily veined, his shaft twitched as she swiped her thumb over the tip, spreading the sticky drop clinging there across him. She wanted to lick along the broad head but that would have to wait. She needed too much. The wrapper tore almost soundlessly. The latex stretched thin as she rolled the condom down.