Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze)

by Jade Hart

  I bit his ear, wanting to bite hard until I drew blood. I tugged his erection free, caressing the tip. Callan surprised me by shoving my hand out the way, grabbing my lower back, and pressing me down. My core connected with him and my mouth popped open as he pushed up. It was invasive, sudden, and I moaned as I was impaled on him. Holy hell, we worked well like this. My entire being was stretched over him, every inch of my skin afire.

  My head fell back in ecstasy as Callan thrust once. He pulled me back to kiss him. If anyone was to walk past now. . .

  Callan tore his mouth from mine, kissing my neck, nuzzling me as he pushed up again. The movement sent comets racing behind my eyelids. I was on a knife’s edge. The need to release made me clench around him. I sighed as he bit my shoulder.

  A headache bloomed, probing behind my eyes. No!

  Even though I recognized my power-pain, warning me I was close to teleporting, it didn't stop my hips from rocking. The natural movement of joining together took over.

  Callan panted, straining upward. “God, you feel incredible.” He kissed me as I clawed him with sweaty fingers. “Ocean—I… I need you.”

  The desire in his voice resonated deep in my belly. More pain in my temples. Too intense. Too much.

  Something snapped in Callan. He growled again, one hand grabbed my hip, the other supported my shoulder blades. His thighs bunched as he drove into me harder.

  Each thrust increased my headache till it pulsed with heaviness—a burst of rainbows in my brain. I froze. I was perilously close to vamoosing.

  I cried out, clenching against Callan's thrusts. “Stop.”

  He swore something not in English, ignoring me. The heat of him, the feel of him blossomed my headache to migraine. The boat swayed, the ocean roared, and Bali flickered like an illusion. “Stop!”

  Callan wrenched to a halt, panting, breathing harsh. “What? What's wrong?” Hands brushed hair from my eyes as I collapsed against him. Agony ripped through me as I combated the porting power. Get it under control. You can't leave.

  “Ocean. My God, are you okay?” Callan murmured, kissing my shoulder, his hands rubbing my waist.

  He was still rock hard inside me; every twitch felt as if a bomb went off. I wanted to finish. I wanted the orgasm that was just out of reach.

  My breathing slowed, my migraine faded. Wincing, I stood and couldn't help moaning as Callan slipped free. I was empty, frustrated, and entirely pissed at myself for ruining it.

  He let me go, quickly hoisting up his trousers and fastening his zipper which bulged against his unsatisfied need.

  I clambered out of the boat, legs shaky, skin aflame with frustration. Why? Why was I cursed with this gift? I never thought about pleasure. Never thought how it would ruin my life this way. Would I never be able to have sex without fighting myself?

  I couldn't meet Callan's eyes. I was too embarrassed. But severe fingers captured my chin, wrenching me to face him. His eyes were hooded, soft. “Thank you.”

  I looked at him, startled. Why did he thank me? I just ruined it.

  He leaned into kiss me very gently. “You stopped before you disappeared. That was a huge fear in the back of my head that it would happen again. I'm so glad it didn't.”

  “But. . . I ruined it.” I blinked. He was so understanding.

  “We can try again. It just means it’ll feel all the better when we do get to come together.”

  Shyness overcame me, and I slipped out of his arms, heading toward the hotel. Didn't he get it? The next time it would be the same. The only thing that could stop me from porting was shock or pain stronger than the migraine. And I doubted he'd willingly beat me up during sex.

  The hotel was full of kissing, happy couples as we made our way to our room. My heart was heavy, body swollen with desire.

  Entering our room, I threw myself face-first on the bed. My thoughts were full of turbulence—black threads of evil whispered sweet-nothings, telling me to hurt Callan. To hurt the happy guests. To hurt myself. I pushed my face deeper into the pillow, pressing the horridness away. “I can't do this,” I mumbled.

  Callan stretched out beside me, nuzzling my neck. “I didn't catch that.” His breath tickled my skin. Intense heat rushed between my legs again. I desperately wanted to finish what we started.

  I sat up abruptly. “Look. Thank you for being great about the whole thing, but we both know this isn't going to work. I'm not looking for a relationship. You’ll grow to hate me when we can't have sex like a normal couple. I have my work. You have yours. My life is bound to my gift, I can't change that. Do you understand?” Please let me go. I won’t let you be with a woman who’s filled with malevolent thoughts.

  My eyes glossed with tears, but I swallowed them back. My heart splintered, and the part of me that wanted Callan with every breath hurt deep in my cold-riddled soul. I’d never forgive myself for being too weak to try. But I couldn’t fight the poison inside. I was a lost cause, and I refused to bring Callan down into my darkness. This would not have a happy ending. I knew it. Callan knew it. There was no need for tears.

  Callan nodded slowly, eyes unreadable. “Okay.”

  Rejection lanced me. Okay. Just like that, he agreed. I straightened my shoulders even as my scalp tingled. Good. He agreed. This whole craziness was over.

  “Okay?” I repeated.

  His demeanor changed, but he didn’t say anything else.

  I tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. In that moment I hated myself and him. Hated how weak we both were. He gave up on us, even after all his talk about falling in love and keeping me forever.

  Callan rubbed a thumb over my knee, his face guarded. “Spend the night and tomorrow we'll check out. I won't stop you from leaving. You're right. It won't work.”

  My heart suffocated, dying inch by inch in the knowledge that I’d won. I convinced him to let me go. Fuck. That wasn't what I wanted at all. I truly was bipolar. No, I was worse. I was Jekyll and Hyde.

  Callan smiled brightly and climbed off the bed. He quickly stripped down to his black boxers. My eyes fell to his legs. He had a tattoo of a broken bone on his left shin. It intrigued me. Did he break that leg? Was it a memento? I’d never know, since I just threw the right to learn about him down the drain.

  Climbing under the sheets, he turned on the TV. “Tonight, we're just friends. We'll watch a movie, order some desert from room service, and just hang.” His tone was tense.

  My ears pricked. Perhaps he lied?

  “Get in,” he commanded, wrenching back the sheets to show his thighs. My eyes glued to his boxers. His erection grew under my gaze. He licked his lips and swallowed. “Are you getting in?”

  Deciding I might as well give him something to remember me by, I stood and shimmied out of my scarlet dress, allowing it to slink down my body and pool on the floor. Callan sucked in a thick breath as I stood before him, naked, apart from my bandaged shoulder.

  He reached for me. “Ocean. . . shit. What are you doing?”

  I crawled across, snuggling against his warm, hard body. My arm lashed around his torso and my cold skin stole his heat.

  Callan cradled me. The hardness from his boxers nudged my arm as I hugged him closer. He kissed the top of my head, but his hands stayed chastely on my shoulders. We stayed like that for ages. The only sound was the hushed voices of a romantic movie.

  Finally, Callan turned off the TV, whispering, “You fit.”

  My body was lethargic from being curled around him. I didn't understand. “Huh?”

  Arms tightened around me. “You fit my arms perfectly.” He kissed my head and sighed, “Go to sleep. Let me hold you all night.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven: Callan

  It was a new day in paradise. The sun shone, the temperature was a perfect tropical blanket, and Ocean hadn’t disappeared. Yet.

  I sat on the restaurant terrace, overlooking a cluster of ponds with more lily-pads than goldfish, watching Ocean gather her breakfast from the buffet. She moved with stealth: h
er eyes constantly aware of other guests, her body shifting with coiled energy. She was built for sparring, attacking… fighting. What would it be like to watch her kill? The instant I thought it, my cock twitched. What a sick fantasy that was! Watch her murder? Crap, Callan. That took my urge to stop criminals to a whole different level.

  Trying to rid myself of the thought, my mind relived last night. It’d been the best and worst night of my life. Ocean slept curled against me, one of her legs entwined with mine, not moving. Well, that wasn’t true. She moved, but only to snuggle closer, tucking her hand in the waistband of my boxers, rubbing her cheek against my chest.

  I barely slept a wink. How could I when a fascinating, naked woman pressed along me? Plus, I'd been cold—which was ridiculous, considering how hot it was.

  My mobile rang. The number didn’t show. “Callan speaking.”

  “You enjoy holiday, yes?”

  I slouched in my chair. “Hello, Kim.” I laughed. “Do you know the meaning of a holiday? It means to relax, not work.”

  “I know. But you wanted more information on Adrian Mathieu. I send you email.”

  My eyes darted to Ocean. She was by the made-to-order omelet stand waiting for the chef. I had time before she returned. “Were you able to identify the other guy? The other sketch I sent?”

  “No. Analysis working quick sharp. Soon we have answer. Enjoy Bali!” Kim hung up.

  Not wasting time, I logged onto my email. I dreaded to think how much the global roaming charges would be. I skimmed the message:

  From: KK678@secureweb.com

  Date: 22 July 2012

  Subject: Killer One

  Print out of Adrian Mathieu:

  Age: 57

  Family: Deceased. No children or marital status.

  Location: Rest Home in Perth. Named: Swan Sun Home.

  Health: Deteriorating. Aggressive Lung Cancer.

  Previous unlawful activities: Unpaid taxes, disorderly conduct, and minor domestic disturbance.

  No arrest warrants for crime committed to Breeze family in 1996. However, we suspect other incidents like this have occurred; currently gathering evidence.

  Phone recorders have been ordered to be attached to personal line, and cameras to be installed in apartment.

  No longer goes by name Adrian Mathieu. Alias: John Smith.

  More information forthcoming.

  Ocean appeared, sitting next to me, her red-brown hair flashing under the sun. I deleted the message and shut off my phone. Guilt sat heavy in my chest. Should I tell her? Adrian Mathieu was found. But would she take off? Go and kill him instead of staying here with me? I didn’t want her to be in danger again like she was with Bazeer. Adrian was a bastard yes, but he was practically dead already with lung cancer. Decisions collided in my head. If I didn’t tell her, I could have Kim arrest him and arrange the trial. Would she appreciate me handing her killer to her with a life sentence shackled around his neck? Surely that was a better option than killing? Even as I thought it, I cursed myself. I knew her better than that. It wouldn’t be enough.

  My gaze dropped to her bandaged shoulder, and I made up my mind. I didn’t want her getting hurt again, and if she went after Adrian she might be. I didn’t want another situation like what happened in South Africa. I still beat myself up over it. No, my only option was to keep it secret, for now.

  She narrowed her eyes, but smiled. “Your turn. I recommend the omelet. The chef put everything in for me.”

  I laughed. It was so rare to find a woman, especially as sexy as Ocean, who ate like a sumo wrestler. “You gonna find a place to put all that?” My eyebrow rose at her heaped plate: waffles, sausage, noodles, some sort of curry dish, and a massive omelet.

  She gave me a sideways look. “This is only an entree.” She smirked.

  I left her to devour her breakfast and gathered my own. I was in huge trouble. I promised her I'd let her go—that it wasn't working between us. Of course that was a lie. I was tumbling head over heels so fast my entire world shifted on its axis.

  The pain in her voice, when she said it couldn't work, gave me inside information. She had secrets; something was going on with her. The way she looked at dinner last night freaked me out. She managed to get it under control, but for a moment she seemed different. Evil. And I reckon my suspicions were correct—it had something to do with the black marks on her spine. Whatever they were, they looked sinister.

  After breakfast, we headed back to our room. Ocean was under the impression I was going to let her go. As if I could. The news of Adrian made me jumpy, too. Would Ocean sense I kept things from her?

  The minute we were safely behind closed doors, Ocean spun to face me. Her arms whipped around my neck and her lips latched onto mine, tugging close. Okay, this wasn't what I expected, but I’d go with it.

  I captured her waist, pressing myself against her. Ever since we made love in the canoe, boat, whatever it was, I was a walking hard-on. Frustration was a constant companion. Watching Ocean untangle herself from my arms this morning almost shattered my self-control. I needed her more than I needed oxygen.

  I kissed her hard and tossed her on the bed. “Crap. I’m sorry!” I rushed to hold her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Stop fussing.” She pulled me closer, pressing the length of her body against mine. Her hands pushed at my t-shirt.

  I stripped it off. I wasn't going to question why she liked nuzzling my chest so much. It warmed me. Did strange things to my insides—increased my protective instincts toward her a thousand-fold.

  Her lips latched onto my nipple and a ragged gasp was wrenched from my lungs. I tried to control myself, tried to keep my hands from her breasts and between her legs, but she took all control away. Pushing me on my back, she straddled my thighs.

  Her dress flew up over her head and I was left with a naked woman on top. Did she have an aversion to underwear? Or was she as needy as I was?

  Her hair splayed across my face as she bent to kiss my neck. I crushed her to my chest. The soft globes of her breasts molded against my skin. Every blood cell in my body disappeared into my pants. I had to have her. Regardless if she thought this couldn't work.

  I reached up to cup her breast, tweaking her nipple. Her head fell back, eyes snapped shut.

  I flipped her so she was beneath me.

  She flinched and yelped.

  Shit, her shoulder! “Sorry.” I kissed along her chin. “I suck at this. You alright?”

  “Yes. . . yes.” Her voice was breathy, flaming my lust to fever pitch.

  I reached for her. The soft curls between her legs were dark. Unashamed, she opened wider. I gulped and cupped her. She was scorching hot—such a contrast to her chilled skin. I groaned as I pushed a finger inside her. Her back arched and I couldn't think straight. All I focused on was the texture of her flesh, the deep heat of her around my finger.

  Hands fumbled at my fly. I shifted to let her push my shorts and boxers down. I sprung free, and sighed in relief from the angle at which I'd been jammed in my pants.

  Ocean didn't say a word as she pulled me on top, spreading her legs so I nestled between her thighs.

  She pushed up, enticing, stroking me with her heat. What was she doing? Didn't she want to savor this? For once we were on a bed, not in a kitchen or in a boat. We could take our time. Taste each other, touch, play. . . why was she so frantic?

  Something flashed in her ebony eyes as she sunk nails into my ass. I allowed her to pull me into her, groaning despite my nerves as to why she was so eager. She shifted, pulling every inch of my flesh into hers.

  Then she moved—almost demonically, hips pumping against mine, her breathing harsh.

  I wanted to let myself go, to pump hard and enjoy her as much as she wanted to enjoy me, but something held me back.

  Ocean panted, her cheeks flushed as she tensed. A pulling in my stomach, a buffet of air and nausea rushed my senses.

  Shit!

  I pulled out as fast as I coul
d, rolling away from her.

  She growled, “What the hell?”

  Temper exploded. She was using me! She said she wanted to leave in the morning. I thought she meant by the same way she got here. That wasn't what she meant at all. She used me to give her an orgasm so she could leave!

  All my rosy feelings and budding affection wilted. How could she? I hated to think she was that cruel.

  Ocean sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. Her face darkened, but there was tension around her eyes, which made me hope.

  I held my anger in check. “Care to tell me why you were using me?” I glared, unable to stop myself. I wrenched my pants up. Never before had a woman made me feel so manipulated.

  “I wasn't. I wanted you. That's all.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. I don't believe you. You were about to leave. I could feel it.”

  She froze. “Whatever. You wouldn't be able to feel that.”

  I pulled her legs roughly so she slid down the bed to the edge. I imprisoned her with my arms on either side. “Tell me what 's going on. What are you so afraid of?”

  My heart clenched as tears shone in her eyes before she blinked them away. “Besides the obvious you mean? The fact we can't have sex without me leaving, that I kill for a living?”

  She wasn't being truthful. I shook my head, softening my voice. “You're lying. That's not what this is about.”

  She pushed me, trying to get free. I let her go, standing straight. “What are those marks on your back? It's something to do with them, isn't it?”

  She trembled.

  I sat immediately, pulling her against me. “Crap, Ocean. It's okay.”

  She choked and wriggled to free herself. I locked my arms tighter. There was no way I’d let her escape. “Maurice said you might not be able to love me back. . . that there’s something missing in you. Is that what the marks are?” I hated that I betrayed her trust—talked to Maurice without her knowledge—but she needed to understand I came into this with my eyes open, or at least as much as I could.