“You’re already so wet you’re dripping,” he rasped, the physical ache of not being able to have this woman the way he wanted more intense than any wound he’d ever received in battle. And as his position dictated, he’d battled plenty. Shed his blood and that of others in rivers of pain and broken bones, more times than he could count.
A Warlock’s life was truly gifted, but seldom easy, especially for a commanding soldier. There were always those who coveted a higher Magick’s power, who sought to steal it for their own achievement, the miserable fools. Who thought to secure their power base, and found themselves horribly broken in the process.
But none of it, not anything that he’d ever suffered, compared to this.
Té’s swollen tissues tugged gently at his fingertips, as if greedy for his touch, and he couldn’t stop his middle finger from slowly pushing within, the exquisitely tight walls of her vagina parting for him as he pressed inside, penetrating the grasping slit while her nails bit crescents into the tops of his shirt-covered shoulders.
Oh Saephus, it felt so good it nearly killed him, her damp channel sucking him so hard he actually had to work to draw the long digit out, then shove it back inside, going deeper than before, rubbing at the silky surface of her inner walls with his rough calluses, killing them both with the pleasure. She was whimpering beneath her breath, eyes closed tight, teeth biting into her lower lip, but she wasn’t in any actual pain. No, he understood all too well the agony of physical hunger. The slow, deep throb that felt like death until it was satisfied with a hard, savage fuck.
She needed a man between her silky thighs, riding her with desperate intent, and gods how he wanted to be the one who gave it to her.
Leaning forward, Kieran buried his hot face in the moist, delicate crook of her neck, nuzzling her with his nose, his tongue taking slow rasps of her flesh as he fantasized about dragging it through the wet folds beneath his fingers, nibbling on the lush, bare lips of her cunt protected by no more than a puffy little cloud of curls at the top of her mound. “What color are they?” he groaned, surprised by the guttural sound of his voice. “What color?” he grunted, lowering his head until he could close his mouth over the soft, cotton-covered swell of her right breast, the soft fabric still slightly damp from Mal’s earlier raindrops.
Té jerked at the heat and strong suckling sensation, unable to swallow the moans spilling past her parted lips. “What color is what?” she panted in a sensual haze, completely lost to a world that centered only on the commanding press of Kieran’s fingers and the searing mastery of his mouth.
“Your curls,” he grated around her nipple, nipping it with his teeth while he shoved a second large finger alongside the first, jerking a strangled cry from her throat as they speared into her, thick and hard, her hips surging off the burgundy leather, lifting toward the indescribable pleasure. “Are they blonde or red? Color,” he barked. “Now.”
“Um…red,” she whispered, head tossing from side to side against the back of the chair. “Red, like the red in my hair.”
He groaned so deep it sounded like another rumbling growl, and she started with a soft gasp, unaware a human could even make that kind of sound.
But then…he wasn’t exactly human…was he?
With a gut-wrenching snarl of pain, Kieran suddenly ripped himself away from her, his lungs heaving like a mighty, storm battered sail and his fingers dripping with her sweet cream. She lay sprawled before him and he screwed his eyes shut against the far too tempting sight, knowing he was only seconds away from scaring the ever-loving hell out of her.
Only seconds away from going dark and furry, in all his beastly glory.
He clenched his fists at his sides, her slick juices pressed greedily into his palm as he struggled to draw it back inside, the sounds of her scrambling away from him like a sharp, hissing slash of pain across his chest.
Hell, he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe how easily she’d made him lose control. Already he was on the verge of exploding and he hadn’t even touched her with his dick yet. No, the bloody thing was still strangled up tight in his pants, ready to fucking kill him.
He opened his eyes with great care, doing everything in slow, calculated movements, lest his beast secret out his vulnerabilities and fight its way through. She stood against the back wall again, staring at him with a passionate glaze of hunger that so perfectly matched his own. His jaw locked, teeth ground together, and he turned to go, not trusting himself to speak, almost afraid of what he’d admit over the crackling sounds of burning wood and their harsh, panting breaths.
She gasped, a soft, urgent burst that was equal parts outrage and unsatisfied physical need. “You’re…you’re just going to leave me…like this?”
With no conscious thought or direction, Kieran found himself right there, pushing her against the wall, fitting his hard body into hers, groaning at the feel of her giving, female softness. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
One big hand palmed her crotch again, rubbing her pussy with a delicious, possessive friction. “How much I want this? This right here? How much I want to eat my way inside of it? Fuck it? Cram it so full of cock that you’ll wonder how you dinna bust open around me? Pack it full, with whatever you’ll let me put in it. Do you?” he growled, dipping his knees so that he could nip at her fragile neck, his tongue flicking out to scrape her skin for another needy taste while two knuckles trapped her swollen clit and massaged it within their tight vise. “Do you even know what a dangerous game you’re playing, tempting me like this, little Té?”
The pressure on her clit was mind-shattering, the orgasm building inside of her almost terrifying in its intensity as it surged back to life. “I’m not doing anything! You started this, you arrogant bastard!”
His free hand gripped the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him. “You’re standing here, damn it, and apparently that’s enough.”
“Is this some kind of sick game?” she panted, eyes glassy with pleasure. “Work up the little American mortal and then cut her cold?”
“Damn it!” he grunted, wrenching back from her, taking deep, shuddering breaths. “I dinna want to scare you,” he struggled to explain, knowing he made no sense, barely able to get the words out over the thundering of his heart.
Té slumped lower, palms flat against the cool surface of the wall, seeking leverage. Words ran over themselves in a frantic tumble within her mind, the mesmerizing force of him—of everything he was—nearly destroying her ability to communicate anything but the basest of needs. Primarily that she needed to be fucked—and soon. As soon as freaking possible.
And despite her earlier resolve to stay clear of this man, she found herself ripped open before him, all those dark, inner desires wrenched to the surface. She was starving for the taste and feel of his long, dark length, her senses ravaged by his vibrant, brutal, achingly tempting appeal. The light of the fire burned behind him, setting the outline of his powerful body within a fiery, glowing frame, sparking off the dark, midnight veil of his hair. It was like a curtain of rich, silky mink, falling around the raw beauty of his hard-edged features, giving a sensual balance to the strong line of his jaw, the deep grooves on either side of that incredible mouth and those unreal, otherworldly eyes beneath the dark slash of his brows. That long, magnificent mane set off each individual feature, until the entire effect was a devastating, dizzying blow to her shields.
She wanted to reach out and stroke it, sifting the Stygian strands though her fingers, knowing they’d flow like a smooth stream of warm water over her skin. To be honest, it was almost too beautiful to be a man’s—too rich, thick, luxuriant—possessing that natural gloss and sheen of a sleek, primal predator. Something feral and dangerous, but so intoxicatingly attractive that you felt drawn to it against your better judgment. So tempting that you just wanted to get closer…closer…closer, until the trap was sprung and you found yourself at the mercy of the beast.
Long and lustrous, the flickering
rays of firelight caught at the individual strands, creating a shimmering effect upon its calm, silken surface. Té wanted to bury her hands in all that warm, raw silk and pull him to her—wanted to twist handfuls around her fingers until she could pull him to the hot, melting center between her legs. Wanted to use that gorgeous hair as an anchor when he sent her crashing over the edge.
And damn it, she wanted it now. “Who in the hell says I’m scared? Do I look scared, Kieran? Horny, yeah, but I’m not afraid of you.”
He cut her a sharp look from beneath his brows, and she could have sworn his eyes shimmered, the velvet black lost to a liquid, glowing silver. But then he blinked, and the silver vanished as quickly as it’d appeared.
“If you’re no’ scared,” he whispered, “then you bloody well should be.”
Her chin lifted, eyes narrowed in defiance—and gods help him, it made him even harder.
“You know what you need, McKendrick?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up in an arrogant smirk, despite the thundering pain in his dick, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “What’s that, lass?”
“You need to learn the difference.”
“About what?” he demanded.
“The difference between when a woman’s afraid…and when she’s ready to be fucked.”
His jaw worked, but it took a moment for him to get the words out. They were hard, each one bitten through his teeth as if he had to force them out with great concentration. “Dinna. Push. Me.”
“Why?” she pressed, her tone sharp with accusation, high cheekbones flagged with twin spots of bright, feverish color. “Isn’t that what you’re doing to me? Pushing my buttons? You’d be lying if you said no, Kieran. A man with your kind of reputation sure as hell knows what he’s doing when he leaves a woman on the edge like this.”
He took two steps forward, fingers biting into her upper arms, lifting her clear off the floor as if she weighed no more than a feather, jarring her against the pale plaster at her back. He felt the blood pounding in his temples, knew that at any second his eyes were going to completely bleed to the blinding flash of silver. “Damn it, lass, you dinna think I’d have you face down over that bloody desk right now if I could?” he snarled. “Face down and open, my cock drilling that sweet little piece between your legs. Are you crazy, or just stupid, because it doesna take a genius to see I’m in hell from no’ being able to finish what I’ve started.”
“Whatever,” she said with forced disinterest, as if she weren’t dying inside, refusing to look at him. “It makes no difference. Just forget about it. I won’t be staying here long enough for it to bother me.”
His lips pulled back over his teeth. “You think you’re leaving me?” he nearly shouted, clearly outraged by the idea.
Her eyes cut back to his, the blue so incredibly dark they almost looked as black as his. “Not think, McKendrick. I will be leaving.”
He forced himself to set her down and step away. Holding her—touching her—was just too damn dangerous. “Because of me?” The words were bitter, nearly choking him, a sickly desperation taking root in the quiet recesses of his heart that had remained untouched until this precise moment in time.
She snorted, laughing resentfully beneath her breath. “No, gorgeous, not because of you. How like a man to assume everything revolves around him.”
“If it’s no’ me,” he demanded with an angry glint burning bright in his eyes, taking a sudden step toward her, “then what the hell is it? Where in the hell do you have to go from here, Té?”
She smiled sweetly. “I don’t particularly think that’s any of your business,” she laughed, the hard sound cool and brittle.
She tried to wrench past him, but he was too quick, snagging her upper arm in an unbreakable hold, halting her with a slight tightening of his grip. His strength amazed her, and for one heart-stopping moment, she fantasized about how wonderful it would feel to be able to lean into him, to take refuge in that strength and let him help. But she couldn’t, could she? She didn’t even know him, though she had a case of lust for him unlike any she’d ever experienced.
And this wasn’t his fight—if there even was one. Té was no longer certain of anything—anything other than the blatant fact that she was treading into some dangerous territory where this sexy Warlock was concerned.
“Why, damn it?” he demanded, his eyes boring into hers with all the force of his will, stealing into her, secreting out all her hidden places. “You belong here.”
“Like hell I do. I’m not staying, so whatever you say…whatever you think, doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
“You don’t own me.”
“For your sake, Té, I almost hope you’re right,” he whispered, releasing his hold, leaving her trembling on her own, her face wet with angry tears, lips parted and kiss-ravaged. He had to get out of there, far away from temptation before he ruined everything. Five more seconds and she’d be getting an up close and personal look at just what kind of monster he could be.
Five more seconds and she’d understand just what stood between them, in all its beastly horror.
He stormed out of the room, heading straight for the door and the safety of the night, mindless to everything but the protective need to get himself as far from her as possible. She could deny it all she liked. Scream it to the heavens and hell until she was blue in the face. Rage with all the livid force of her will.
But in the end, it would make no difference, because in his soul, Kieran knew she was his.
He just didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
Chapter Seven
The morning followed a sleepless night, and Kieran found his cousins at Lach’s training studio, just as Evan had said when he’d stopped by the café. She’d looked at him in a way that was somehow questioning…even expectant, but she hadn’t told him to leave her sister alone. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that was exactly what he’d expected. Saephus knew he’d have himself strung up by his balls if he were Té’s family, but Evan had merely seemed excited, as if she were actually happy her sister had a bloody beithíoch sniffing after her.
Kieran shook his dark head, stuffing his hands further into the pockets of his black jeans, the lines of his face set into a fierce scowl. Mortals. Gods, would he ever understand them?
He pulled open the heavy wooden door of Lach’s private studio and let it crash closed behind him, sealing himself within the main battle chamber. Cool air blasted him from vents imbedded within the ornate tiled mosaics above, and he was instantly surrounded by the metallic clashing sounds of a sword fight, though there were no mortal weapons being used in the intense practice session taking place between Lach and Blu.
The two Warlocks moved upon the gleaming floor in a choreographed dance of violence that would have made most gnachs fear for their lives. The large, high-ceilinged room echoed with the crashing, grating sounds of metal against metal, though they fought with no visible weapons. Kieran smiled with pride, and no small amount of anticipation. His eyes, despite their troubled shadows, gleamed with the wicked promise of a little boy eyeing a new toy through a lit holiday storefront.
Oh yeah, the Whispering Blade was going to be fun.
Lachlan had spent the past month perfecting this new technique in which a Warlock’s power over the wind could be compressed into a lethal, invisible blade—the ultimate weapon.
The Whispering Blade would serve them well in battle against any rogue Warlocks and Wyzards, or the shifters who so often chose to seek them out in challenge. And those challenges were becoming more and more frequent these days, which kept Lach in busy demand training Magicks who wished to know how to defend themselves, though there was seldom a need. It was the Council’s soldiers who did the fighting for them, the majority commanded by Blu and Mal and himself, and Lach who did the greater part of their training.
Kieran suspected his lovesick cousin had probably invented the highly effective blade
s just so he could have more time to spend with his gorgeous little wife. Not that he blamed him. If he had a woman like that of his own, he’d want her by his side every minute of every hour of every damn day, too.
Christ, but was that a chilling thought.
And suddenly he realized everything had gone strangely silent around him while his mind wandered a million miles away. He looked up to see Lach and Blu standing in the center of the great room staring at him, their clothes soaked in sweat, chests panting as they struggled for air.
Blu gave him a thorough once-over, taking in his haggard appearance—wild eyes, dark jaw, hair tangled from the fingers he repeatedly ran through it—and smiled. “What the hell happened to you?”
“His woman,” Lach laughed. “That’s what.” He turned a grin on Kieran. “I told you it’s hell.”
“Hell?” Kieran snorted, pacing from one side of the room to the other, his body burning with all the restless energy of a caged animal. “Oh no, it’s no’ hell, cousin. Hell has got to be better than this,” he hissed. “No…this is—Saephus, I dinna know what the fuck this is.”
“You two sound like a couple of wimps,” Blu snickered, grabbing a white towel from his bag and slinging it around his strong neck and broad shoulders. “For crying out loud, they’re just women. How fucking scary can they be?”
Two sets of eyes, one pale green, the other black as midnight, blazed onto the spot where Blu stood. He lifted his shoulders in an arrogant shrug. “What?”
Lach nodded and gave him a slow, menacing smile. “I think I’m going to enjoy reminding you of that comment when you find the balls to stop running from your own.”
Kieran gave a sharp laugh and Blu tensed, fists clenching at the ends of his towel. “Damn, no’ you, too. What do I have to do to make you louts understand? That pink-assed little Pixie is no’ my bloody mate!”
“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Kieran drawled.
Blu arched one black brow. “Et tu Brute?”
“Who ever thought the Big Bad Blu would be afraid of a little pixie dust?” Kieran snorted with satisfied laughter.
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