She groaned, instinctively fisting the sheets on either side of her hips. To her shock, his hands clamped down over hers, pinning them to the mattress. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Making sure you don’t go anywhere.” That clever tongue flicked between her labia and over her clit, burning hot as he lapped her up like cream. She squirmed helplessly, gasping. With a satisfied rumble, he closed his mouth over her tender lips and drank from her before using his teeth on the delicate flesh.
It was all she could do to form words as he bit and sucked and nibbled. “Just because I…read a book with a bondage scene, it…AH!…doesn’t mean I want to be held down!”
“No, but I want to do it anyway. And where you’re concerned”—he paused to do something wicked with that long, clever tongue—“I do exactly what I want.”
A cascade of fire raced up her spine, tearing a gasp from her lips. She writhed as the orgasm swamped her consciousness, instinctively trying to pull away from his overwhelming mouth. His hands tightened their grip, keeping her ruthlessly pinned as he sucked so hard her every nerve detonated in an erotic Fourth of July.
Jane screamed, convulsing against his mouth, grinding her hips against his face.
The fire took a long, long time to die. She was still quivering when he sat up, grabbed her hips, and flipped her onto her belly.
She opened her eyes, dazed, and looked around at him as he pulled her onto her knees. He didn’t even take the time to remove his briefs—just tugged them down enough to free his jutting cock into the spill of moonlight.
“Now,” he said, in a dark voice rich with male anticipation, “it’s my turn.”
Something hard brushed Jane’s slick opening. Her head jerked up in shock at the diameter of Baran’s shaft as he slowly impaled her, one mind-blowing inch at a time.
“Oh, you are tight.” He came down over her, covering her back in hard, sweaty muscle as he purred in her ear. “And slick. Have a little more of me.”
“Jesus, Baran!” She gasped as he drove in even deeper, slow, thick, and endless. Moaning, she fought to brace her hands beneath her and rise to all fours, but he caught her wrists and pinned them again, trapping her on her elbows with her ass lifted into his stroke.
Finally he was all the way in. “Mmmmm. How does this feel?”
Jane could only pant. She could feel her own slick interior stretching around his impaling shaft. Stuffed almost to the point of pain, she whimpered. She’d never been so turned on in her life. “Good. God, it’s good. You bastard.”
He rumbled a laugh in her ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Then he started to pull out. Slowly. Silk and width and heat, sliding from her deliciously. Out. And out. And out.
And in. And in. And in.
“Just so you…oh, GOD…know, just because I let you do this to me…in bed,” she gasped, “that doesn’t mean I’m going to…AH!…let you dominate me anywhere else.”
He laughed, low and wicked, and started stroking out. “Oh, yes, you will. I’ll make sure of it.”
“No. No, I…” Out. And out. She whimpered.
“Darling, you won’t be able to stop me. Not that you’ll want to. I’m told I’ve got a talent for it.”
The velvet amusement in his voice barely registered in the hot rise of another climax. The only response she could manage was a scream.
The pleasure spiraled tighter and hotter until it exploded, twisting her into convulsions in the cage of his arms. He kept pumping, hot and hard, in short, ruthless strokes that drove everything else out of her head.
Her orgasm built even higher under that merciless stoking, burning and ferocious, unlike anything she’d ever known in her life. Helpless in the grip of it, Jane yowled, mindless, forgetting Druas and her father and everything else but Baran Arvid’s demanding body.
She was still drowning in the fire when she heard his triumphant roar as he came, deep in her pulsing sex.
Reluctantly Baran slid out of Jane’s hot, delicious clasp. As he collapsed on his back, panting, he heard her whimper once. “Oh, God, that was…I never felt anything like that.”
He felt his lips twitch in an automatic male smile that felt distinctly smug.
Though come to think of it, she’d been more than he’d expected, too. There’d been something in the way she’d responded, a pure female heat mixed with a curious…innocence? Wonder? Something very different from what he was used to.
Desperation, a cynical mental voice suggested.
Well, yeah, that was part of it. He’d had some pretty incredible sex the night before a battle. There was nothing like the possibility of death to add a rough power to passion.
Yet somehow, taking Jane had felt more…personal than that.
The mattress sank under him, kicking his senses instantly to alert, but it was only Jane rolling onto her side. Her arm encircled him as one small, cool hand came to rest on his chest. He heard her sigh once before her breathing deepened into sleep.
Good. With any luck, he’d done such a good job wearing her out, she wouldn’t have any more nightmares.
He only hoped he could say the same.
Her fingers felt so cool and delicate against his hot flesh, so small. Her palm felt like silk, without the callouses of weapon use or combat he was used to in the Warfems he’d bedded.
Vulnerable.
She was so helplessly vulnerable. If he’d tried to hold down a Warfem the way he’d pinned Jane, he’d have had a fight on his hands.
Oh, he could have done it. His partner might even have decided to submit as part of the game. But fems were never truly helpless; their strength was two or three times that of a normal human male. A Warlord was even stronger, of course, but a really determined Warfem could still turn the tables.
Jane couldn’t. She couldn’t have broken his hold no matter what he’d chosen to do to her.
And if it had been Druas who’d pinned her…
He couldn’t move. They’d ordered his computer to lock his body on his knees. Helpless. He heard laughter, then Liisa’s voice. Screaming. The sound ripped at him. He struggled desperately to move, to break out of the paralysis, but his computer wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t release him.
Then he felt…
Shit. Baran shut the memory down and rolled out of bed in a convulsive burst of motion, barely aware of Jane’s slim hand dropping limply away. Adjusting the briefs he’d tugged down to take her, he strode to the window, automatically positioned himself out of the path of fire. Scan, computer. Check for Xeran life indications.
The response came back an instant later. No Xer detected.
He stared out at the darkness, his jaw clamped tight, his hands curled into fists. He shouldn’t be here. He should be on Xer with Freika, stalking General Jutka and waiting for his chance to put his ghosts to rest. The General’s bodyguards would probably execute him afterward, but he really didn’t care. He owed it to Liisa, to Lieutenant Ullock, to Thorp and Ive.
The team he’d failed to die with.
“Wait,” he whispered to the darkness. “I’ll get it done.”
But first he had to take care of Jane.
He glanced back at the bed. She lay curled in a defensive ball on top of the sheets. One of her feet twitched. He hoped she wasn’t having yet another nightmare.
Not that he could afford to care.
It was fine to spread her, to play hot games that taught her his strength and conditioned her to yield to him. The obedience he built in bed might pay off later when she followed some crucial order at some crucial moment. If she became obsessed with him, so much the better.
But he couldn’t afford to become obsessed in turn. She was a job, no different from the rescue of the admiral’s daughter, or that Vardonese scientist, or any of those he’d saved. Just another mission on the way to the only one that counted: looking into the eyes of General Gavoni Jutka and watching the bastard’s life drain away.
Baran had gotten all the other
s who’d tortured and killed his team, or at least all the ones whose names he’d been able to discover. He’d stalked them patiently, challenged them one by one.
All except the bastard who’d murdered Liisa. He’d never been able to discover that one’s name. But Jutka knew. He had to. And he’d give Baran that final name before he died.
One way or another.
But not tonight.
With a sigh Baran moved back to the bed and stood looking down at Jane. With his enhanced senses, he could plainly see the way her lashes fanned over her cheeks in the dark, her mouth relaxed in a full pout. He thought about kissing her again, tasting those velvet lips.
Keep your distance, warned a mental voice. Don’t get too close. Don’t let her get too close.
He moved around the bed, pulled free the sheet that was trapped under Jane’s sleeping form. Climbing in beside her, he covered them both and started to reach for her. He wanted to feel her delicate warmth against him.
He stopped the gesture in midmotion. Better not.
Instead he rolled over on his side until he faced away from her, leaving a comfortable distance between them. His back felt cool. For a moment he imagined what she’d feel like spooning him from behind, all curves and silken warmth.
Then he shut down the thought and closed his eyes. Computer, enable sleep. Scanners to full. Alert me if you detect anything.
Engaged, the comp said. He felt the tension drain from his body as the comp flooded his brain with the slow, deep wave patterns of sleep.
He knew nothing else.
Jane snapped her eyes open with a choked whimper and stared wildly at the wall bathed in the golden glow of morning sunlight. For an instant she had a memory of bloody dreams. Then the memory fled, and she was left with nothing but an impression of terror and violence.
She was glad. Her current reality was bad enough as it was. Except for…
Baran.
She turned over quickly, half hoping to discover he’d been nothing but a dream himself. Along with the concept of Jack the Ripper bouncing merrily through time killing people…
No. There he was, handsome and sound asleep, long hair tumbling around his tattooed face as he lay on his side facing her. His chest seemed to loom like a muscled wall, soft chest hair curling in a tempting cloud across its breadth. He was so damn gorgeous, she wanted to touch him just to see if he was real.
Which was no reason to sleep with the man mere hours after he’d broken into her house. Damn, that was the kind of thing romance heroines did, not real, living people who paid bills and ran a newspaper. She couldn’t believe she’d let him seduce her like that.
Then she looked at the soft line of his mouth, the fan of his long eyelashes over his cheeks, the truly outstanding width of his shoulders….
Okay, maybe she could believe it.
She sighed. And promptly grimaced at the nasty taste in her mouth. If Baran woke up and decided to give her one of those incredible kisses, he’d be appalled. Time to brush the teeth.
Among other things, she mentally added, noticing the pressure in her bladder.
Jane started to roll out of bed, then stopped. He’d told her he had to be with her at all times. But what was she supposed to do—wake him out of a sound sleep and say, Hey, wake up. I have to pee? She didn’t think so.
She’d make it quick and be back in bed before he—
A strong male hand snapped out to wrap around her wrist. She looked down to see Baran had opened one eye to look at her. “Where are you going?” his voice was sleep graveled. And astonishingly sexy. It just wasn’t fair.
“I didn’t mean to wake you….”
“You did anyway. Where are you going?”
“Bathroom break.”
He lifted his head from the pillow, yawned hugely, let her go, and rolled smoothly to his feet. “One more time, Jane—you don’t go anywhere without me.”
“For God’s sake, Baran, the Secret Service isn’t this paranoid!”
His gaze turned abstracted. She realized his computer was probably feeding him the meaning of the term—and probably the complete history of the Service, all the way back to the day it was created. Growling, she bent to snatch her sleep shirt off the floor, then jerked it down over her head. She looked around for her pants and found them on the other side of the room.
As she recovered them and put them on again, she looked around to see him watching her, mouth flattened with displeasure. “Unlike you, your President doesn’t have Jack the Ripper after him.”
“No, just every other nutball on the planet.” Janet turned and stomped toward the bathroom, resentfully aware that Baran dogged her heels. “I know what this is about, by the way. I lived for twenty-two years with a dominant jerk, and I know all the games. Daddy played them, each and every one. ‘I’m the man, and you’ll do what I say. Or else!’ No wonder Mom made for the hills.” If she had. If her father hadn’t…
“What are you talking about?”
“My father, alpha male of the universe.” She plopped down on the toilet. “Turn your back, dammit.”
Baran obeyed. “What has he got to do with this?”
“He thought women were naturally inferior, too. An old-fashioned, Southern-fried, sexist…” Wife-abuser, but Baran didn’t need to know that part. “So you can imagine how thrilled he was when his only offspring turned out to be female.”
Baran turned back around to gape at her. “Naturally inferior? Women? I never said that.”
“Yeah? So what’s with the ‘You’re going to obey my every command’ crap? Turn your back, dammit.”
“That’s not about your being a woman! That’s about your being a civilian.”
Finished, she rose and stalked to the sink to wash her hands. “Same difference.”
“No. It’s not.” Baran angled his head down until he was nose to nose with her. His eyes were beginning to glow again. “I will fight Druas for you, Jane. That’s a given. But it’s not going to be easy, because from what Freika said, he’s at least my match in strength. He may even be stronger. And considering what we both know he’s capable of, that may not turn out well for me.”
Jane had to fight the impulse to step back from the red-hot threads of rage burning in his irises. Instead she grabbed a towel and started drying her hands. “Yeah, I’m aware of that. I really am. And I’m grateful. But that still doesn’t give you the right to push me around!”
“The point is, I’m willing to die for you.” He bared his teeth and gritted, “But I’m not willing to die for your stupidity!”
For a moment she stared at him in shock. Then her rage exploded. “Fuck you, Baran.” Throwing the towel into his face, she stormed from the room.
Eight
Baran grabbed her wrist, jerking her to a stop just outside the door. She looked down at the hand that gripped her, then slowly raised her eyes to glare at him. In her mind’s eye she saw every time her father had ever grabbed her mother, every time he’d pushed, every time he’d slapped. “Let. Go.”
He glared. Jane peeled her lips away from her teeth as her fury burned hotter. She knew in that moment that if he lifted his free hand, she was going to hit him with everything she had, no matter how much bigger and stronger he was.
Slowly a faint alarm replaced the rage in his eyes, as if he realized just how close she was to the edge. Carefully he released his grip and stepped back.
That backward step was one her father had never taken. Somehow it pricked Jane’s fury like a bubble. She slumped, deflating as the rage drained away, leaving only weariness behind. “I won’t be abused, Baran. Not even by a man who promises to protect me from Jack the Ripper.”
“It’s not my intention to abuse you.” His voice was just as low and tired as hers.
“Then you need to work on your delivery, because you’re getting awfully damn close.” She walked over to the bed and lowered herself to the mattress, the sudden exhaustion weighing at her.
Baran moved to sit down at her si
de, broad shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”
“Huh.” She snorted. “I’ve heard that before.”
He eyed her, frowning. “Not from me.”
“No. From my father. He was always sorry.” She laughed shortly. “Every single time he beat the hell out of my mother, he was sorry. Not that it ever stopped him.”
“Your father beat your mother?” She saw that she’d somehow shocked him.
She shrugged. “Until she…left.”
He frowned. “And you thought I was about to hurt you?”
Jane lifted a brow at him. “Well, you were pretty pissed.”
“But I wouldn’t have hit you.” He tilted his chin, visibly offended. “I’m a Warlord.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he just looked indignant. “And? Unlike some people I could name, I don’t have a computer implant to tell me what that means.”
“No Warlord would use his strength against those he’s sworn to protect,” he explained, still visibly offended. “Particularly women. It’s…dishonorable.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to have a problem with holding me down while you were—”
“That,” he informed her, “was sex.”
She stared at him. “I feel so much better now.”
“Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.” The beaded braid swung against his cheek as he gestured sharply. “There’s a great deal of difference between playing erotic games and hurting someone under my protection. The only reason I’d ever use force against you is if you were trying to do something that would get you killed. Even then, I wouldn’t beat you. Tie you, possibly…”
“Which sounds awfully damn patronizing,” she interrupted. “I’m an adult, Baran. I don’t need to be restrained for my own good.”
“In principle, I agree. But I’ve been in this kind of situation before, and I found out the hard way that principles and reality do not always coincide.” He sighed. “Which is basically why this argument began in the first place.”
Warlord Page 10