Renegade (Phoenix Rising)

by Blake, Brynley

“Get up,” he repeats, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet.

  Oh, no. Familiar fingers of dread squeeze at my heart. He’s having second thoughts. He doesn’t want me the way I want him. I should have known it was too good to be true, too much to hope for. And the bitch of it is, I know better than to make myself vulnerable like this. Not staying in control means giving someone else the power to leave, and the power to hurt you. I can feel the tears pricking at my eyelids, and I will them away. Rejection is an old friend of mine. I’ve survived it before; I’ll survive again.

  Walker’s eyes soften as he looks into my face, and he cups my cheek tenderly. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. What’s wrong? Having second thoughts?”

  “Me? No! I just thought you were…”

  “Fuck, baby. That’s the last thing on my mind.”

  “Why did you tell me to get up?”

  His laugh has a raw edge to it. “Because I can’t make up my mind how I want you. I decided there’s no way I’m letting you go until I’ve fucked you every way I can think of.” He grips my chin in his hand and kisses me like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. “I want it all. I want to feel you move beneath me, and I want to see my cock disappear into you from behind, and I want to hold your hips and pull you down on my cock until I touch the center of you.”

  “Oh.” My voice sounds small.

  “I would never hurt you, Gemma. At least not here.” He places his hand on the center of my chest. “Your body is another matter entirely.” The corners of his sensual mouth tip up wickedly, and relief floods my veins.

  “Thank God!”

  “Am I being too rough?” Walker is probably the only man on the planet who can pull off asking me that without sounding like a wimp.

  I stand up on my toes and kiss him, biting his lip hard. “Not a fucking chance. You’re the only one who’s never been afraid of the storm in me. I want you just the way you are—raw and uncensored.”

  He smiles then, a slow and wicked smile that has every nerve ending vibrating with anticipation, then spins me around and shoves me down onto the bed. He’s on top of me in an instant, supporting his weight with his arms as he devours my flesh, kissing and biting the back of my neck, nipping my side and then sinking his teeth into my ass until I scream. I want him furiously, madly, without any sanity. His hands are insistent as they drag me back to the edge of the bed and he slips his cock into me from behind. It feels different this way. He thrusts into me hard and fast, and this time it’s his cock rubbing against my G-spot. It’s like his own secret pleasure button, guaranteed to drive me out of my fucking mind.

  His hand is on the back of my head, pressing my face into the mattress as he fucks me hard and fast.

  “I know what you need,” he growls in my ear.

  “You. Do?” The two words come out separately, grunts punctuated by his hard thrusts. I’m so wet I can hear the squelch as his big cock slides in and out of me.

  “Oh, yeah, baby. You need a man who fucks you like you need to be fucked, don’t you? You want to be owned, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  Oh, God. He could make me come with his dirty-talking mouth alone. He pulls my ass up higher so he can penetrate me more deeply, telling me all the dark and depraved things he’s going to do to me. If I were a different kind of girl, I’d be afraid. But I’m not, and I love it. I love him. And I trust him not to hurt me. I’ve always wanted a guy who didn’t handle me with kid gloves, who wasn’t afraid to use me and take what he wanted, but it’s even hotter when that guy is Walker. Maybe it’s because deep down inside, I know he would do anything to protect me and keep me from being hurt, that he will always keep a tight enough hold on the reins. The fact that he can become someone tougher and fiercer with me in the heat of the moment makes the transformation even hotter.

  “Your pussy is mine, sweetheart. You feel how it hugs my cock? You were made for me. Made to be filled and used by me.”

  The headboard is whacking against the wall, he’s fucking me so hard. My hands are fisted in the sheets and I bite the comforter, trying not to make too much noise. But apparently he wants to hear me, because he drags my head up by my hair again.

  “I want to hear you scream, baby. Tell me how you like it.”

  “I love your cock. Give it to me faster, deeper, harder.”

  He complies, pumping into me until I hover on the edge, every muscle in my body tightening with the anticipation of release. Without warning, he withdraws and lies on his back, pulling me on top of him. Noooo! I feel the loss of him inside me keenly. Before I can protest, he grabs my hips, lifts me slightly, and slams me down on top of his cock. Ahh! I close my eyes in sheer relief and at the pleasure of his cock filling me again. “Ride me, sweetheart. I want to see your face when you come with me inside you.”

  His hands are on my ass, guiding me up and down as I ride his cock. It’s still rough and hard, the way I like it, but something’s changed. There’s a profound intimacy in the moment that I don’t quite understand.

  He reaches between us where our bodies are joined and plays with my clit, making small circles as my thighs clench around him, trying to take him deeper each time I impale myself on him.

  “Oh.” My head falls back at the sheer intensity of the feelings he creates.

  “Nuh-uh.” I respond to his command instinctively, my head snapping forward as my eyes meet his. “Look at me. I want to watch you come.”

  He holds my gaze, and time stops as I’m caught in this one powerful and perfect moment, staring into the fathomless eyes of the man I love while his cock fills me and his finger takes me to the edge of an abyss so deep and so dark, I’m afraid I might get lost in it forever. He moves his hand from beneath my ass to twine his fingers with mine, and I realize that no matter how deep the void, Walker will never let me fall. We are tethered together by an unbreakable bond. He will always be there to save me. A deep yearning fills me until I think I’m going to burst, but Walker doesn’t let go. I feel like I’m caught in a tsunami of need, and the wave grows higher and higher, carrying me with it to the crest. Then it breaks and I plummet into the deep, the pleasure rippling through my body. He holds me as I ride the storm and I can feel him come, his cock throbbing inside me as he lets out the cry of a warrior.

  …

  I wake up to an empty bed, and for a minute, I wonder if I imagined every mind-blowing minute of last night. But there’s a tenderness between my legs, a pleasant ache throughout my entire body, and faint bruises on my inner thigh and stomach. I sigh with relief. It wasn’t a dream.

  The hotel door opens, and Walker walks in carrying two disposable cups with steam rising from them. Speak of the devil. And he does look like the devil, or maybe the devil’s cocky younger brother. He’s wearing jeans that hug his ass and a T-shirt that reveals his powerful forearms, and memories of those arms banded around me, holding me still as he fucked me like I was his, banish every other thought. For once in my life, I’m tongue-tied. What do you say to the man who just gave you the best sex of your life when you’re not supposed to have feelings for him?

  I settle for “hi.”

  He flashes me the full wattage of his smile. That is not helping.

  “Hi, yourself. I didn’t wake you; I thought you might need the sleep.” I blush at his words. There is no exhausted like six orgasms exhausted. Or was it seven? “I brought coffee.”

  “God bless.” I push myself to a sitting poison, suddenly self-conscious about how I must look. I try to smooth my hair, but my fingers immediately tangle in a knot and I can tell it’s just-been-fucked hair at its worst.

  He sits down on the bed next to me and hands me one of the cups, simultaneously brushing my hair back from my face with a tenderness that slays me.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod. “More than okay. What took us so long to do that?”

  He smiles at me, and I feel like sunshine is shooting through my veins. “I’d say we should do it again, but we have to get bac
k to San Francisco. Our meeting with Dr. Morris’s family is this afternoon.” He pauses for a second, and then says, “You still game for the club tomorrow?”

  “Of course! Did you think I wouldn’t be? You can’t scare me away that easily.”

  He smiles again. “No, sweetheart. I can’t, can I? I think I underestimated you. I have a feeling we’ve only scratched the surface.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Walker

  Dr. Morris’s house is on a quiet, tree-lined street in an unassuming neighborhood just south of San Francisco. I kill the engine on the bike but wait for Gemma to get off first for the sheer pleasure of looking at her ass in the tight jeans she’s wearing. I could have turned in the bike when I went to pick up the accessories for tonight’s play/training session with Gemma, armed with Cooper’s shopping list, but I decided to keep it for the rest of the time we’re here. I like the feel of Gemma’s body behind me on the bike.

  Hell. I just like the feel of Gemma’s body. Writhing under me, riding me, wriggling on the bed as I smack her ass or push my cock into her wet heat, curled up next to me, as if I’m her port in a raging storm. I shake my head. Fuck. I’ve got to stop thinking about Gemma, although after last night, that’s going to be next to impossible for the next fifty years or so. But this morning, she made it absolutely clear that us having sex was a onetime thing, and that what she wants is Declan. I’ve done my best to convince her that he isn’t right for her, that being submissive isn’t right for her. But I’m starting to wonder. She’s been so responsive to everything I’ve done to her. I shake my head. It’s time to concede defeat. We’ll find out what Dr. Morris’s family knows, go to the club, and then I’ll send her back to Charleston and Declan. And then I’ll deal with the fallout on my own.

  An older, still-attractive woman in her mid-fifties answers the door. She looks at me apprehensively as we introduce ourselves, but Gemma’s presence seems to put her at ease. Five minutes later, we’re sitting in her cheery yellow kitchen along with her son and daughter-in-law, drinking tea mixed with honey. The woman, whose name is Connie, still seems slightly leery of me, so I decide to let Gemma take the lead. After nine years of friendship, she can read my cues as easily as one of my SEAL brothers, and she dives right in without hesitation.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your husband,” she says, the sincerity evident in her voice. “I only met him that one time, but he seemed like a wonderful person. Losing him so tragically had to have been such a shock. A devastating one.”

  “Yes,” Connie says quietly. “To have survived being held hostage in Afghanistan, saved in a dramatic rescue attempt that cost your friend’s brother his life, only to die in a freak car accident weeks later.” She shakes her head as her daughter-in-law covers her hand. “I can’t quite understand the cruelty of fate.”

  Gemma doesn’t say anything, and I nudge her leg under the table. She looks up at me, and I see her eyes are shimmering with tears. Oh, fuck. Gemma’s always had too soft a heart for her own good. I’m going to have to step in.

  “I understand Ms. Ward told you that Liam Prescott, the SEAL who led the attack on the terrorists who captured your husband, is being considered for the Navy Cross award for his bravery in rescuing your husband, and that I’m making the final decision?” I look to Dr. Morris’s widow for confirmation, and she nods. I wink at Gemma, proud of myself for acknowledging her lie while not actually agreeing with it. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling now, the tears gone for the moment. Mission accomplished.

  “Yes. I don’t know anything more that I haven’t told everyone else, but I’m happy to tell you again.”

  “Everyone else?”

  She sighs heavily. “The reporters, the embassy representatives, the CIA…I tell them all the same thing.”

  “The CIA?” What the hell would the CIA be talking to Dr. Morris’s widow about? The woman’s face becomes shuttered, and Gemma shoots me a warning glance.

  “I’m sure it’s been difficult,” she says soothingly to the older woman. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  What the fuck? Like hell she doesn’t. That’s why we’re here.

  Gemma continues without giving me a second glance. “It’s just…” She pauses, looks down at her lap, and takes a deep breath before meeting Connie’s gaze steadily. “McKenzie—that’s my best friend who came with me to meet your husband shortly after he returned to the States—she’s been pretty broken up about the death of her brother. Her parents both died a few years ago, and she and Liam were especially close. It’s hard to lose that one person who connects with you on every level and whom you love more than anything—whether it’s a husband or a brother, or someone else.” Gemma’s voice wavers. She takes a minute to collect herself and then continues resolutely, “That’s why we’re here. Not to bother you or cause you pain. But because having Liam’s story told, and seeing him honored for his bravery by the organization that he sacrificed his life for, will heal her soul just a little.”

  Gemma deserves a fucking Oscar for that performance, but the bitch of it is, she means every word of it. Her compassion is the real deal. Connie’s eyes are shimmering with tears, and she says, “She’s lucky to have you. To be honest, I wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting if I hadn’t already met you when Mr. Prescott’s sister came to see Steve. But Liam Prescott saved my husband’s life. The least I can do is give his sister something to hold on to for that.” She turns to me. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why don’t you just walk me through what happened? What your husband told you about the rescue.”

  Connie nods. “My husband has a big heart.” She swallows hard. “Had. I’m sorry. We were married for thirty years. It’s hard to get used to him being gone.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “All he ever wanted was to heal and help people. It was the reason he became a doctor. And the poorer and more helpless the people, the more driven he was to help. He felt strongly that people in poor or war-torn countries shouldn’t have to suffer and not get the care they needed. He had a very lucrative career as a trauma surgeon here in the Bay Area at UCSF Medical Center, but every year, he would take time off to go to Mexico, providing medical care for the poor and disadvantaged. He started a clinic there that we still fund.

  “But about a year ago, he felt called to do something more. Early retirement had left him with too much time on his hands, and we were watching the news one evening about what was going on in the Middle East. He looked at me and said, ‘They need me there.’ A few months later, he left to join a group that was setting up a hospital in a war-torn area of Afghanistan. We both knew the dangers. Afghanistan is the most dangerous country in the world for doctors, relief workers, and other humanitarians. But Steve had been doing this for so long, I don’t think either one of us thought anything would really happen.

  “Then I got the call that he had been kidnapped by Taliban militants. The U.S. government got involved, but they moved at a snail’s pace, and they told me very little,” she adds bitterly. “I didn’t know they had sent in a special forces team to rescue him until I got a phone call from him telling me he was okay and on his way home.”

  I frown. There’s something that doesn’t add up. While Dr. Morris sounds like a wonderful humanitarian, the U.S. government doesn’t typically send a highly trained special forces team to rescue a run-of-the-mill aid worker. But I know I can’t tell her that. Still, there has to be more she’s not telling us. Someone in a high position wanted Dr. Morris rescued, but why? Could it have something to do with his work in Mexico? I open my mouth to speak, but Gemma’s shoe stomping on mine under the table has me biting my tongue.

  She turns her attention to Dr. Morris’s wife and smiles. “Go on.”

  “There was a roadside ambush when he was traveling to the hospital. He and an Afghan doctor who also worked at the hospital were taken hostage by the Haqqani network, a Taliban-aligned group that commands the highland area near the Afghanista
n and Pakistan border. The other doctor was sold for a ransom. They kept Steve. He said they treated him reasonably well, but he had no illusions that the U.S. would save him. He was a nobody, really, and the U.S. is adamant that they don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  I’ve let Gemma pussyfoot around enough. I need answers.

  “Unfortunately, your husband was right,” I interject. “It’s not typical for the U.S. to send in special forces to save hostages, especially ones that aren’t high-ranking military officials or valuable to them in some way. Can you think of any reason your husband would have been valuable to the U.S. government?”

  She shakes her head. “He was just an idealistic doctor who wanted to help people.”

  “Tell us about Liam saving your husband,” Gemma prods.

  “According to Steve, the terrorists kept him in the same location for several months, but then they suddenly moved him across the border to Pakistan. The next day, a special operations team stormed into the mud hut where Steve was being kept. The militants fired on the soldiers, and they fired back. Your friend’s brother was shot. Steve tried to help him—he’d been shot in the stomach—but then someone threw an explosive into the room and he told Steve to get out while he could. Steve went to tell one of the soldiers to go back for your friend’s brother, but before they could get to him, the whole hut blew up.”

  I rake my hand over my face, trying to mask my frustration. I was fucking there. She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I take a deep breath and, taking a page from Gemma’s book, try to remember I’m dealing with an emotionally fragile woman and not a terrorist. And that I’m supposed to be evaluating Liam for an award.

  “It’s my understanding that your husband spent some time with Lieutenant Commander Prescott, and he gave him a necklace and asked him to give it to his sister.”

  Connie nods. “After he’d been shot, it was just the two of them for a few minutes in that back room while Steve tried to stop the blood. Lieutenant Commander Prescott tore the necklace off his own neck and gave it to Steve and told him to make sure it got to his sister, so she would know for sure what kind of man he was.”