Blue

by Maddie James

  Devin rotated his fingers slightly inside her. Moist. Hot.

  "Oh..."

  And then with his thumb, he pushed and played with the small nub of flesh just above her opening. “Oh my God, Devin..."

  "This is the good part, Cyan. Relax. Lean into me if you need to.” His words were as labored as hers. She really didn't want to speak right now.

  He plunged within her, circled her from the outside and with lightening speed, something ripped and zinged up inside her that made her want to spread her legs for him and take him all at once.

  A powerful orgasm overtook her and she screamed out, gasping, her fingers gripping into Devin's shoulders as he palmed her mound and continued his assault. She shuddered and bucked against him, totally out of control, feeling things she'd never felt before. And just as she was coming down, slightly, he lifted her and pushed her back against the tip of his cock and instinctively, like she'd done it a thousand times, she sheathed him with another small gasp, a momentary flash of pain, and then nothing but pleasure.

  Devin moved with her in a rhythm she'd never experienced before, a dance she'd never danced, but that they executed with perfect timing. They met and matched, parried and thrust, and Cyan took him with everything that was in her.

  She felt full. Fulfilled. Swollen with him.

  It wasn't long before he exploded and the tremors wracked both of their bodies. He shouted out her name, lurched up and wrapped his arms around her, and it seemed her name echoed throughout the cavernous barn. She wanted to hear her name shouted like that again and again, a thousand times or more over.

  A few seconds later she slumped over him, nestled into him, and he cradled her close. He stroked her hair and she breathed deeply of their mingled scent. Their breaths became shallow, more or less in sync, as they came down together from a high she knew she'd never before experienced. She didn't know about him.

  "Thank you, Devin,” she whispered into his chest moments later. “No matter what else happens in my life, I'll always have this."

  Then she fell into a drowsy, satisfied sleep while he possessively fingered the sapphire nestled between her breasts.

  * * * *

  Devin. She called me Devin. Not McCrae.

  He knew from that moment on that things had changed, were different, and that he was in deep shit. His emotions spilled over like nobody's business, his primal wants took control, his goddamned brain didn't think. Not working this through. Not considering the consequences of his actions.

  Unlike him. Damn it.

  But how could he, when she searched his face with those baby blues, asking him to help her, to take away her virginity ... when all he'd wanted to do for a month now, intensely for days now, was do just that? How could he refuse? Would any man?

  He didn't know.

  A part of him ached at what he'd given her, what he'd taken away, knowing she was happy and satisfied and felt so damned safe in his arms. Another part damned his soul to hell and back for getting too involved from the get-go, for ignoring orders, for defying her father's dying wish, for taking something from her so precious she'd never get it back.

  Thank you, Devin. No matter what else happens in my life, I'll always have this.

  As long as he lived, he'd never forget those words. Spoken so sweetly, so innocently, so naively. Just like her. Damn him. What gave him the right?

  But maybe he could hold onto those words forever, too, when this all came to an end.

  Because it would. No doubt. And it would kill him.

  For now, he pulled her closer, drank in of the sweet smell of her hair, the heady scent of their lovemaking, and the feel of her soft, white, woman's body next to his. It was dark, and although he couldn't see them tangled there together, in his mind's eye he knew what they looked like. Chocolate and ivory. Brown and white. Her fair virgin skin contradicting everything that he was. Dark. Tainted.

  An unlikely pair.

  Tonight, he would take it. Keep it close. Because tomorrow held no guarantees.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  Waking up lingering and lazy was something Cyan hadn't done in a while. She relished in the feeling, not wanting to move. Ever. This languid morning, however, in her half-groggy state, she knew immediately life was different. Things were different.

  She woke in a man's arms. Devin's arms.

  It was something she hoped to experience more than just this once.

  Curled into him, her arm loosely draped over his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, she slowly let herself become aware of him. Their legs were intertwined. She breathed deeply, inhaled his scent—their scents—and wanted to drink it in, so it would last. His arm was placed protectively over her, his hand resting on the side of her face, cupping her to his chest. Sometime in the night they'd shimmied beneath one of the horse blankets for warmth.

  Cyan exhaled, slow, shallow ... as if she'd been holding that breath for a century. She didn't want to move. Even though daylight was here and she knew they needed to move soon. She snuggled closer to him, slowly coming awake, while his fingers tenderly brushed stray strands of hair away.

  Glancing up, she looked into Devin's face, and met those deep brown eyes looking tentatively back at her.

  "Good morning.” His voice was low, a bit hoarse.

  Smiling, Cyan moved her hand to his face, stroked the two-day stubble of his beard, then reached up to kiss him. “Good morning to you,” she whispered against his full, soft lips.

  Devin growled and turned, wrapping his arms and legs around her possessively, and returned the kiss. Heady. Consuming. Cyan loved the feeling.

  He broke away and buried his face into her hair. “Oh, Cyan,” he breathed, “this was such a goddamned bad idea..."

  Pulling back, she took his face in both her hands, looked into his eyes. Frightened? Devin McCrae was frightened? Of what?

  "No.” She shook her head. “No, Devin. Don't say that. Please. I need something to hold onto here. I need you. Like this. Please don't ever say this was a bad idea."

  For some insane reason, one she really couldn't fathom, she felt a sting to her eyelids then. Looking into his face she could sense, feel, his confusion, his pain. She'd had no idea their lovemaking would affect him in this way.

  Or her.

  She fully expected for them to share this moment, this time, and for them each to move on. But now, somehow, things were different.

  Not what she'd planned.

  She never wanted to be without Devin.

  Ever.

  Damn. Was she so naïve she could believe that could really happen?

  His eyes closed, a flash of pain lanced across his face, and he buried his face in her hair again. He breathed deeply. Cyan could feel his chest expand, feel his exhale, as he pulled her in closer, tighter, possessively.

  "It's okay, Devin,” she whispered. “It's going to be okay."

  They stayed close, breathing in sync for a few minutes longer, and finally Devin pulled back. “We have to go soon."

  She nodded. “I know."

  His palm fell to her breast and he cupped her, toying with her nipple, rapidly growing hard and pebble-like. She liked his hand on her. Touching. Fondling. Nothing rushed or hurried but just there. She lazily drifted her hand from his cheek to his shoulder, where she fully took in his tattoo. She'd seen parts of it before, dipping out from under his t-shirt sleeve, but now she could see it all.

  No colors, just black ink, a muted contrast against his brown skin. It covered his shoulder and she traced it with her forefinger. Intricate. Three loops around, angles and lines connecting, Celtic in nature, but different.

  Familiar. But at the same time, not.

  "Tell me about your tattoo?"

  He raised up on one elbow, his good one, and leaned into her a little more. His muscled bicep and shoulder, chiseled and reflective of the morning light, perfectly framed the tattoo.

  "It's a trinity,” he told her, and
she lifted her gaze to meet his. “My heritage."

  She looked again at the design. A piece of art.

  He went on, “Each loop represents a circle of life, one of the dominant races that makes up my family lineage. Each angle or line that connects them signifies a family connection, how the races were joined, what makes me who I am."

  Cyan leaned closer. “Fascinating.” She laid her fingertips over one of the loops and smoothed her palm over his shoulder. How she loved to touch him. The tattoo was centered over his shoulder with one loop placed on his bicep, one moving across his shoulder in the back, and the other toward his chest. She traced the entire trinity. “Tell me about this one.” She pointed to the loop on his bicep.

  He glanced at it, but it was obvious he could share the story without looking at it. Had probably told it a million times. She could tell he was that proud of who he was.

  "My great-grandfather was African American, he married a Latina. See how the angles with this design cross over from this loop of the trinity to this one? That bar signifies my great-grandfather and great-grandmother—on my father's side. So, you see for me, one loop is African American, one is Hispanic, and this last loop? What do you think it is?"

  Cyan looked at the loop, at the symbol in it, and then looked up to study his face. Her gaze played over his features as she tried to determine any distinguish characteristics, something that might give her a clue. “I'm not sure, Devin,” she returned. “Tell me."

  "Pueblo. American Indian."

  "Really?"

  He nodded.

  "My mother's side, both great-grandparents were Pueblo. Fully enrolled in the tribe. My grandparents, one Pueblo, one Hispanic. There is some Navajo lineage, too. It melds more and more together from there."

  "And now?” She searched his face.

  Devin lay back against the hay again and pulled her into him, wrapping them both together against the morning's chill. “Now, I'm me. Mulatto. Just who I am. A blend. A mixture of all my ancestors. And I rather like it like that."

  Truth be known, she liked it like that, too. It was one of the things that intrigued her so about him.

  "I don't have a trinity or anything.” She fingered a strand of her hair. “I'm just Caucasian."

  Devin clutched her head into his chest and then kissed the top of her hair. “That is what makes you special,” he murmured. “You are who you are. That is all any of us can be.” She liked the way he was holding her, possessively. She'd never had that, never experienced this kind of closeness before. Feeling so secure in something.

  Someone?

  She just hoped she didn't get too damned caught up in all this. Did she really know what she was doing?

  "So ... pure...” he went on, “why I can't ever leave you, can't ever let anyone...."

  His voice trailed off and Cyan wasn't sure whether he was saying those words to her, or to himself. Her heart swelled and all she wanted, needed, was to just be skin-to-skin with him.

  * * * *

  Get the hell out, McCrae. Move it.

  Shit! They are coming at us from all sides!

  Sonofabitch! Run, you stupid bastard. Get up and run!

  No. Not this time. Finish the mission.

  He cocked his weapon. Aimed it. Nestled the butt of the gun into his shoulder. Closed one eye. Tickled the trigger with this forefinger. Put a bead in the center of the doorframe.

  Calm. Calm.

  Ready...

  Steady...

  Take a breath...

  Hold it...

  Wait for it...

  He burst through the door. Devin squeezed the trigger.

  Fire erupted. Flesh flew.

  Someone screamed.

  Don't stay around to see the results. Get the hell out. Get out now!

  To the chopper. Now! Get to the fucking chopper!

  Whomp. Whomp ... whomp ... whomp ... whoooooomp.

  Devin woke with a start, bolted straight up, taking Cyan with him.

  Whompwhompwhompwhompwhomp...

  "Sonofabitch! Cyan, get up. Get dressed. Now!"

  She was already scrambling. Jerking on shirt, shorts, shoes. He watched. The necklace glinted off her neck. Damn it. They'd fallen asleep. He'd made love to her once more and they'd fallen into tangled heap and slept.

  Sonofabitch!

  That could never happen again.

  "Follow me!” he barked, zipping his fly, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Worse today than yesterday.

  Forget it. Put it out of your mind, McCrae.

  Mind over matter.

  Trying to contain his anger, his frustration at his stupidity.

  Last time. He'd make damned certain.

  Last time he'd let his dick do his thinking.

  Fuck.

  "Stick to me, Cyan!"

  He was behind the door, the chopper was hovering. He could see through the cracked door. Dust whirls. Kicking it up. Still hovering. Too close, over the barn.

  Couldn't see. Was it one of theirs? Chaco?

  Damn, but they needed a break. Hoped to hell it was Chaco.

  Then it lifted.

  Straight up.

  Gone.

  The whomp-whomp-whomp faded momentarily, then dipped entirely too close, sending up more dust devils, swirling into his face through the crack in the door. The chopper moved rapidly away from the barn. To his left. Toward....

  Fuck.

  Three Humvee-type military vehicles were barreling toward the barn, headed for them. The chopper was moving in on them.

  Get a good look at the chopper, Devin. Get a good look.

  "Give me your hand.” He reached for her. “When I say move, you move. Do you hear me? Do exactly as I say."

  He didn't look at her. Felt her small, shaking hand in his. Every protective, male-ego-induced, testosterone-laden hormone surged at that moment. Confused him.

  Shit. Shove it away. Just get them out.

  Out!

  A fire-beam shot down from the chopper. Obliterated the lead Humvee. A miniature fireball mushroomed skyward. Left a small crater in the open field. Stopped the others dead for a moment.

  The chopper made an abrupt U-turn back toward the barn.

  Yes. One of theirs.

  Stay calm.

  Steady....

  Take a deep breath....

  Wait for it...

  It dipped and hovered by the door. Wait. Let the dust clear.

  "McCrae!"

  He'd know that voice anywhere. But caution. Still important. Wait. Momentarily, the dust cloud settled and he could see the chopper's open door.

  The wind whipped at him. Devin could see the grimace on his face, against the stinging dust pellets.

  Chaco.

  He threw back the barn door.

  "Now, Cyan!"

  They ran. She kept up with him. Ten yards, maybe, to the chopper.

  Gunshots peppered the ground beside them.

  Don't look up. Don't look anywhere. Keep Cyan's hand in yours and keep your eyes on Chaco.

  "Straight to the chopper, Cyan! Move!"

  She stumbled. Her sneaker half on, half off. Shit!

  Gunshots.

  Five yards.

  He pulled her. Practically lifted her.

  Adrenaline pumping. Surging.

  Eyes on Chaco.

  Run. Run!

  Two yards.

  One.

  He pushed Cyan in front of him and Chaco caught her up, pulled her in. A Humvee raced at them from the east. Too close. The chopper lifted slightly.

  Devin dove.

  Chaco caught his shirt and dragged him in.

  The chopper zipped forward and upward. Away.

  Shots repeatedly bit at the chopper's metal. Then nothing.

  Devin curled over onto his side. “Ah, shit."

  He stayed that way for a moment, let the pain pass. Let the white light in his brain's eye dissipate just a little. He lifted his gaze and saw Cyan huddled a few feet away in the corner of the chopper. Frighte
ned. Looking at him.

  Wanting him.

  "I'm okay, Cyan,” he whispered, reaching out his hand. In a flash, she was at his side, and he couldn't wait to hold her.

  Safe. They were safe.

  He moved to a sitting position and ran his hand over her hair, her face, then pulled her into his arms. She nestled into him and he felt her sob against his chest. Damn it. When would this be over for her? There was nothing else he wanted than for her to be safe, for this to all be over. He stroked her hair. “We're safe, Cyan. Right now, we're safe."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle expression of disapproval on Chaco's face.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eight

  Betatakin was down there, Cyan knew, tucked away in the canyon. She'd seen pictures, remembered it somewhat, but from this approach had no clue where it was. The helicopter drew closer, rimming the top of the canyon. This high desert area of northeastern Arizona was dotted with cedar and piñon, capping the cliffs. Those were easily seen and recognizable from the chopper, particularly as they descended.

  She searched for the cave. Remembering it as very large, a deep cavern bored into the side of the cliff. The land was rough, red rock sandstone. Not a lot of places for the copter to land, although she vaguely remembered when she was a little girl that they had a particular landing spot, then a jeep ride, then walking.

  She figured it would be no different today.

  "Not much longer."

  She turned away from the window. Chaco stared at her. Straight through her.

  She nodded. “It feels close."

  "It is."

  Matter-of-fact.

  She knew Chaco and Devin were good friends, but there was something she just wasn't sure she could trust about him, even after spending the past month with the two of them. There was something her sixth sense just couldn't reconcile. It time, she was sure, it would become apparent. Since they'd met back up with him, something had set her a bit on edge. She couldn't put her finger on it.

  Devin leaned in. “Things are secure?"

  Chaco nodded. “Of course. I was concerned after the mine incident, but everything checks out now."