Eliana's Warlord

by Jory Strong

  She'd always known as soon as he got old enough to keep the brother and sister he'd named fed and safe, she'd lose her hold on him. But by saving Luke and having to scrounge to survive, he'd lost his hold over her.

  He regretted not killing her. He'd held a knife to her throat and gotten the name of the slaver she'd sold his brother and sister to, but hadn't finished it. He'd told himself he had to make sure she hadn't lied. Later he'd seen it as a weakness, a reflection that she'd still had power over him. And he'd gotten the tattoo so he wouldn't make the same mistake again. NO MERCY.

  He turned in Eliana's arms. In a softened voice she asked, "Did you get your friend out?"

  "Yeah. He's one of my top guys, not that he stayed scrawny."

  "I'm glad."

  "So am I."

  He lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her, feeling as if somehow she was his reward for surviving this long and only reluctantly parting from her.

  They got out of the shower and dried off.

  A quick toweling of his hair was enough. Hers took longer.

  "Okay if I use your comb?" she asked.

  "Turn around."

  She faced the vanity and the mirror he'd never cared one way or another about until he saw the both of them captured in it.

  Fuck, they looked right together. They felt right together.

  He picked up the comb and began working it through her hair.

  Her eyes fluttered closed. Her soft sigh of pleasure was a caress.

  She tilted her head back, giving herself over to his care in a way no other woman ever had.

  They'd given him their bodies, claimed to give him their hearts and their loyalty and their love, but they'd wanted something from him in return. Protection. Pleasure. Power. A hundred other things, some obvious, some not. And none of them had touched him any deeper than the rub of skin to skin, the rub of tongues inside his mouth.

  His gaze lingered on Eliana's face and he was reminded of an old-fashioned watch he'd taken off a dead man and stashed in the treasure room. When opened, the silver watch contained a picture of a woman as well as a time piece.

  For the first time, looking at Eliana in the mirror, Jax understood why a man might carry around an image of his woman.

  His eyes moved to Eliana's breasts with their dark, softened nipples. Then lower, to her stomach.

  Maybe getting her pregnant would kill Stefan Thorpe's interest in her.

  His gaze dropped to her pussy. Maybe a public fuck would do the same.

  He could throw a party in the square where he'd captured Eliana the night before. Fighting and fucking always accompanied revelry.

  He could take her on a table or against a building wall and spies would carry word of it behind the wall. No city man wanted to marry a known whore, and that's what she'd be labeled.

  Some of his own people would think the same about her.

  His chest tightened, squeezing acid into his guts and raw anger into his dick. They'd fucking keep their thoughts to themselves or they'd die.

  Jax gathered another section of damp hair and began working the comb through the tangles.

  His knuckles brushed her spine. A small tremor went through her. A soft moan passed between her lips, and in the mirror her nipples budded, begged for his mouth.

  Raw anger became heated desire, savage possessiveness. He'd fucked and had women suck him off publicly more times than he could remember, but he didn't want any other man seeing Eliana like this or hearing the sounds of her pleasure. He didn't want any other man watching her being taken and fantasizing about taking a turn with her.

  His fingers clenched in her hair. He fought the urge to spin her around, claim her mouth then kiss downward to take each nipple between his lips, sucking and biting until it was clear he considered them his. And after he'd done that, he'd kiss and suck and bite his way over her flat stomach and bury his face in her pussy.

  Fuck, they needed to get serious about practicing birth control, because the way he felt right now, he'd have a hard time sharing her with his own kid. He'd adjust his thinking if he had to, but getting her pregnant wasn't the way to deal with the man who wanted her back.

  That left tattooing her.

  He shut the door on that thought. He'd sworn he'd never let himself care enough about a woman to put his ink on her, to commit and make himself vulnerable by wearing hers.

  Jax took the last section of uncombed hair. Now would be the time to ask her about the man who intended to force her into marriage, but he didn't want to talk about her relationship with another man. He didn't want to invite more evasion. He had plenty to punish her for already.

  His attention shifted to his jeans. The bulge in one pocket created by the green panties and bra sent a twinge through his chest. The belt at the waistband sent a throb through his cock.

  Jax finished working the tangles out of Eliana's hair. He tossed the comb onto the vanity.

  Its clattering caused Eliana to open her eyes. The heated need in her expression had him fantasizing about having her bend over and grip the edge of the vanity top, then spread her legs so they could both watch as he took her.

  Punishment first, then pleasure.

  He opened a drawer, dug around and found one of the cloth ties he'd used when he wore his hair long.

  Gathering her hair, he braided it, tied it with the dark green strip of material.

  He stepped away from her, picked up his jeans. Captured her eyes in the mirror and slowly pulled the belt from its loops.

  Her pupils dilated. Her breath hitched, and the lips that'd felt so good on his dick parted.

  "I told you it'd be a mistake to lie to me, Eliana."

  It came out more husky than hard, but fuck, he had to contend with how loudly his dick was screaming to get inside her.

  The jeans dropped to the floor.

  Chapter 12

  He could order her into position and she'd comply. She wanted this sensual disciplining as badly as he wanted to give it to her.

  It'd been a long time since he'd played this way with a woman—

  Except, with Eliana this didn't feel like play at all.

  He put his arm around her waist, reflexively pulled her flush against his body, the swell of her buttocks pressed to his groin.

  His cock throbbed harder, screamed louder, trying to drown out the big head saying punishment, then pleasure.

  He touched his mouth to the passion mark on her neck. Inhaled the smell of his soap on her skin.

  Punishment could wai—

  No it couldn't.

  He stepped backward, the arm around her waist forcing her to go with him until there was enough distance between Eliana and the vanity.

  "Put your hands on the vanity, Eliana."

  She trembled, sending a wave of heated anticipation through him.

  She leaned over, the rub of her ass and proximity of her opening to his cock delivering pure temptation and making his balls pull a little tighter.

  He'd become a fucking masochist.

  Not that he let her go and stepped away from her.

  She rocked against his cock, tried to widen her legs, but his calves blocked her.

  He regained control. Barely.

  Punishment. Then pleasure.

  He stepped away from her. Lifted the belt and brought the leather down across her ass, hard enough to hurt—just enough.

  Because she'd nearly been hurt. Because she'd made him hurt.

  Her soft cry appeased him while the longing and acceptance in her gaze begged him to keep punishing her.

  He struck again. Realized he'd chosen to do this in front of the mirror because he wanted the image of his punishing her and the knowledge that she belonged to him seared into her mind as well as her ass.

  He brought the belt down for a third strike. It was enough—this time. Any more and the addiction to her would only deepen.

  He tossed the belt onto his jeans. But he wasn't done.

  The mirror would make it impossible for her to
lie to herself later about who she wanted, who she belonged to.

  He cupped her hips, slid his hands up her sides and over to her breasts, using the grip to urge her upright.

  Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he said, "Open your legs, Eliana."

  Her body trembled against his. Her lashes dipped and her thighs parted.

  His hand left her breast, moved slowly downward despite the quickening of his heartbeat and breath.

  She made one of those soft little sounds of pleasure that lit him up and made him burn for her, suffer for her.

  It's because she's turned me into a fucking masochist, he told himself, again.

  He reached the small triangle of brown curls, plowed through them to her clit.

  It was swollen and erect, the tiny head bared.

  A hard shiver of need went through her and his fingers slipped between the folds of her pussy, measured the depth of wet, slick readiness with a thrust.

  "Jax," she said, eyes and voice and body pleading.

  Warning shimmered through him, that he might be able to forgive her anything.

  He sucked the delicate skin on her neck, rubbed and pressed her clit, fucked into her opening and watched her body become flushed and taut with pleasure, then relaxed and satisfied in the aftermath of release.

  Their eyes met in the mirror.

  Her unguarded expression said she'd learned her lesson. She'd never be able to lie to herself about who she wanted, who she belonged to.

  He could finish this here. He could push into her, fuck her as they both watched him doing it in the mirror.

  Not good enough. He needed her beneath him, like the first time. He needed her in his bed the way she'd been before she'd run.

  A final kiss to her neck and he cupped her hips. "Turn around."

  She did, her hands going to his chest, fingers playing with the nipple bars.

  His cock licked across her stomach and threatened to do more than that.

  "The patch should come off," she said. "The wound needs to breathe through the bandage."

  Her concern filled his chest with warmth. "Take it off then."

  The glide of her hands to the injury was sweet torment.

  Gently she removed the patch and tossed it onto the vanity.

  Her fingers returned to the nipple bars. A touch and he was done with demonstrating control.

  His mouth took hers and the swift return of fury surprised him though he didn't try to counter its blaze.

  His lips and tongue punished hers, because despite taking the belt to her ass, he couldn't forget that she'd run and nearly been raped, that she'd been in another warlord's possession and could have been claimed.

  He held her tight against his lower body and maneuvered her into his room without breaking the kiss.

  Lifting his mouth, he used the same words he'd used the night before. "Get on the bed, Eliana."

  And just as she'd done then, she sat on the edge and slowly slid backward, heating him up and making him hunger.

  He took her down to the mattress, forced her thighs open with the aggressive press of his. He grabbed her hands and pinned them to the sheet.

  A thrust and he was inside her. A second and there was no stopping.

  He'd waited too long, and Eliana succeeded where no other woman could, in making him lose his control.

  She was like a drug.

  Each thrust of his tongue, each thrust of his cock, strengthened the addiction, but when he was on her, in her, with her, he couldn't care. All that mattered was how good it felt with her.

  He changed the angle, needing her to come with him. And she did, her channel clamping on him in a merciless demand that he flood it with semen.

  And fuck, fuck, pulling out as a means of birth control was never going to be an option.

  White heat streaked up his spine. White heat streaked through his dick. Semen jetted out in white-hot ecstasy and left him vibrating with pleasure.

  He lay more heavily on her, not because she'd liquefied his muscles, though she had, but because Eliana made him feel possessive and primitive.

  He didn't want to get off her, didn't want to leave her body.

  He kissed his way to her ear, told her something he'd never spoken to another person. "You're mine, Eliana."

  She tensed beneath him.

  He jerked away from her ear so he could see her face, refused to label the hot burn in his chest as anything other than anger.

  Guarded eyes met his. "And you're mine, Jax?"

  Yeah. He was hers. But there was no way he was going to admit just how much power she had over him.

  He was the warlord. And she was a weakness he wasn't going to reveal.

  He kissed her, like a man in control. "I'm yours until I say I'm not."

  And fuck if the caine didn't start wearing off, sending deep, aching pain into his heart and through the rest of his chest, forcing him to roll onto his back.

  He pulled her close so her head rested on his shoulder and her arm lay across his stomach.

  Someone pounded on the door.

  Shit!

  Loch said, "You in there, Jax?"

  Jax rubbed his chin against Eliana's hair. "Yeah."

  "Rand sent me so he could go another round with that blonde Samuel's been doing lately. Said to tell you he's got the spy you wanted plus two more."

  "Be out in a minute."

  Jax sat then leaned over and gave Eliana a hard kiss. Probably better to start getting answers about Stefan Thorpe from men who knew he'd kill them if they lied.

  He left the bed, snagged a clean shirt before going into the bathroom. He dressed, tugged the panties and bra from his pocket, fisting them, touching them to his lips.

  She wouldn't run again now that she knew how dangerous the warrens were and how easily she could be taken, now that she knew she belonged to him and had his protection.

  He'd paid a ransom for her. He'd killed for her and would probably kill again. But he wouldn't be stupid because of her.

  He swooped up the ruined dress, along with her socks and shoes. Best way to keep a woman out of trouble was to keep her barefoot and pregnant.

  Yeah, that fucker with all the wives had at least part of it right. Eliana wouldn't run if she was barefoot.

  He returned to the bedroom.

  She'd rolled onto her back and pulled the sheet up to her waist, leaving her breasts for him to devour with his eyes. And fuck if he couldn't see his ink on her in a beautiful swirl that'd caress the sweet swell above her heart and make a sensuous trail across her stomach and down to her pussy for him to follow with his mouth and tongue.

  As much as she liked to play with the bars in his nipples, he was willing to bet she'd accept a navel piercing for him to tongue, maybe even one in her clit hood.

  His dick spasmed, cold and heat mixing, protest at the prospect he'd decide to pierce it colliding with the prospect of piercing her.

  He watched her face carefully, but she didn't seem to care that he might be taking her things and leaving her naked.

  He went to the dresser, grabbed the gun and shoved it in his waistband then went to the bed and sat on the mattress edge.

  "I bought these for you," he said, dropping the panties and bra onto her stomach.

  Her eyes widened. Her soft, sensuous smile iced the pain radiating from the knife wound.

  "Do you want me to put them on before you leave?" she said, a submissive willingness in her voice.

  "Fuck no, I'll never get out of here if you do."

  Eyes liquid with longing, she rose and covered his mouth with hers, the kiss transferring the swell of her emotion into him and he couldn't get enough of it.

  He sipped from her lips. Swallowed the sounds she made, and one tender kiss fed into another and another, making it impossible not to cup her face, to pull her against him as if he could absorb her into his skin.

  He needed to get to the bar.

  He kissed her.

  Or she kissed him.

  It d
idn't matter who initiated it. Only that each one of them made him desperate to take her back down to the mattress, to cover her again, join their bodies again.

  He managed to separate his mouth from hers. Her fingers stroked the bottom edge of the bandage.

  "I didn't say it before. Thank you, Jax."

  "You're mine." That said it all as far as he was concerned.

  "But for how long?" she whispered, her voice threaded with the longing for him to reveal just how far and fast he'd fallen for her.

  Just do it.

  His heart pounded hard enough to beat some of the ache in his chest away. Each beat said, tell her.

  Tell her.

  Tell her.

  His head said no.

  No.

  No.

  He gave her a hard kiss. "You're mine, that's all that matters."

  He forced himself away from her and out of the room, decided to ditch the shoes, socks and ruined dress in the infirmary.

  Her black hoodie and jeans, along with the shirt he'd given her, were on the table. Rand's doing.

  Jax put the other things next to them.

  Loch entered the hallway as he was locking the infirmary door.

  "Ready?" Loch asked.

  "Yeah."

  Loch whistled, two sharp blasts that'd bring more guards. Rand's doing again.

  Footsteps thundered down the stairs. By the time he and Loch reached the front door, Enrique and Asher were there.

  "Jax!" Shell cried and came rushing toward him from the room to the right, her lips still reddened from stretching around Asher's cock, or maybe she'd been with some other man between then and now.

  He didn't care. Wasn't interested.

  He ignored her and left the house, intent on getting the answers that would allow him to put an end to the threat of losing Eliana.

  * * * * *

  From the bedroom window Eliana watched Jax pass through the door set in the adobe wall and enter the courtyard. He moved with confidence, with lethal purpose and contained power.

  He was so utterly masculine, so thoroughly one of the elite in this violent world—an alpha male in his prime and everything she'd wanted in a mate.

  You belong to me, Eliana.

  But for how long?

  You're mine. That's all that matters.