Greta collapsed onto the pillows. Had she been arched against his hard body? He still hung above her, his delightful cock still filling her. She looked up into his eyes, pools of midnight in a dark world slashed with starlight. Over his shoulder, she could still see the stars through the big windows. Who was this man? She didn’t even know him. What had just happened here? She’d never been that out of control. She’d also never had multiple orgasms. She felt like a tornado had just ripped through her and left her a shambles.
He lifted himself from between her legs and sat back on his haunches. His face went still, his eyes hardened. “It’s done.” She didn’t think she’d ever heard a tone more bleak.
“What’s done?” she hissed. “What the fuck was that?” She never used language like that. She never attacked a man for sex, either.
“You should never have come here.”
That made her mad. “You brought me here. And if we’re talking about who should have avoided this, you could have left like you did the other night.” Oh, my God. She pushed herself up on her elbows and tucked her legs under her as the realization hit. Her arms slid around her torso, protecting her breasts. “You knew this could happen the other night, didn’t you?”
He turned his head away. “It was already starting. I was desperate enough to jerk off, thinking that would help. And then there you were in the window. Like you’d been drawn to the sexual energy, and I knew you were…pleasuring yourself, too.” He sounded like a man without hope. “I should have flown to Madagascar or Greenland. Now…?”
It sounded so final. “What do you mean now?” Did he think a relationship was a foregone conclusion just because he could give her mind-blowing sex? He was a disaster. He was so not her type. There was nothing inevitable about it. She’d dumped far more congenial matches than him. “We’re not exactly soul mates. You just move on. A mistake. And no condom was a real mistake,” she added. “But we’re probably okay. I had my period a week ago. Whatever happens, I accept the consequences.” Then she took a breath. “But you have no commitment to me regardless. Ditto me to you.” She felt queasy just contemplating leaving him.
He got up off the bed, slowly, bent like he was an old man. “You’re right. But we can’t be in the same town together. The attraction will be even worse now. Maybe it doesn’t have to be Greenland or Madagascar. Somewhere in Europe?” He was really talking to himself.
“I’m not going anywhere. My life is in L.A.”
“Of course not. I’ll go.”
She wanted to scream in frustration. “Why? Not that I want you hanging around. But you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what happened here. You said I was getting close when I said voodoo and witchcraft. I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. But what happened between us isn’t normal. I don’t act like that. And I knew where you were. Even before tonight. I knew when that guy brought you home. I could feel you approaching.”
He frowned. “What guy?”
Uh-oh. Now she’d stuck her foot in it. “Uh…maybe you better ask your father.” Lan looked at her like she was crazy. Yeah, he wasn’t getting on with his father. She shook her head. “Well, it looks like he’s your older half-brother. From before Brian married your mother,” she hastened to add. “He’s a French-Canadian mercenary.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shook her head again, more slowly this time.
“Poor Mother.” His expression had changed from hard and blank to wistful. A guy like this loved his mother? Well, even Al Capone had loved his mother. Hell, he probably loved his father, too, and that was part of the problem.
“Yeah. That didn’t go too well. She kicked him out of the house. The others don’t know. They’ll probably think he just moved on. He looked like the drifter type.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Lan was talking to himself more than her again. He was trying to get control of the situation. He couldn’t want control more than she did. This whole thing was ridiculous. “I’ll go. Tomorrow. Some things to arrange…”
Greta watched him standing there, naked, in pain. She knew intellectually that he was wrong for her in so many ways she couldn’t even count them. But she felt so drawn to him. She began to throb again. Even as she watched, his cock began to rise. But she wasn’t just physically drawn. She wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him. She wanted him to comfort her in return. She wanted to make him whole, so he didn’t have to drink to ease his pain. But those feelings weren’t like her. She’d never wanted to just give herself over to a man. She didn’t want to lose herself in a relationship anymore than she wanted to cede her life to her domineering mother. And she didn’t even know this guy. Not really.
But she wanted him. Now.
His cock had hardened until it bobbed with the throb of his pumping blood. His face was turned away. God, he was beautiful, standing there in the starlight; the bulge of muscles, the sleek slide of them under his skin, his hair drying now and wild around his shoulders. His skin was soft, she remembered. That was always so amazing, that men, so hard, had skin just as soft and touchable as a woman’s. Damn it, her juices were wetting her thighs again. And his juices. Their essences were mixed together inside her. She had the oddest feeling that it was right that way, more right than anything she’d ever experienced.
As she watched, his head slowly turned toward her. His eyes burned with the same intensity of the fire inside her. They stared at each other, knowing what was about to happen, each wondering if they should resist, could resist. She could see the moment in his eyes when he gave up the fight, and she welcomed his lunge for her. It took all need for decisions away.
They came together with an intensity even more searing than the first time if possible. Their mouths were locked together, tongues sliding around each other. His big hands kneaded her butt-cheeks in ways that might leave bruises as he pressed her to his body. She didn’t care. She pushed her breasts into his chest and dug her nails into his back. She might draw blood. She didn’t care about that, either. Together, they fell onto the bed. That left her on top. Good. She straddled him, rubbing her sex against his cock, up and back. He groaned and bucked under her. The sensation on her wet labia, the pressure on her clit, were just this side of excruciating. She’d come to orgasm in about thirty seconds at this rate. That was okay. She rose up, still kissing him, and pulled his cock up from his belly, then lowered herself onto it. This time it was easier, not just because she was so wet, but because her body remembered the shape of him, the bulk. They fit together as though made for each other.
She pounded down on him and raised herself back up. His hands gravitated to her waist, helping, his hips thrusting up to meet her. She pushed off his chest and sat upright, impaled on his length. Up and down, she gave a little twist as she settled, and that made him grunt. She liked that. He bit his lip. He was trying not to come first this time. Two could play that game.
She slowed down, making each stroke of her inner walls over his hard cock an exercise in precision. Each time she lowered herself, she gave that little twist and that rubbed her clit, bringing her close, so close. But she wasn’t going over yet. Not if she could help it. He was gasping, his chest heaving, his eyes black holes of lust. She moved, ever so slowly. Up. Down. Something was building inside her that felt like more than an orgasm. She stopped moving entirely. He throbbed inside her.
“You’re killing me,” he breathed.
“Good.” She was getting a little scared. It felt like a dam inside her was about to burst. And if it did, she knew that all sense of self would explode with it. She would be lost.
He reached his hand around, intending to thumb her clit. “Don’t you dare, Lanyon,” she hissed. She was surprised that her ploy worked. He jerked his hand back. But he was looking pretty desperate and a little scared himself. Was he feeling what she felt?
They were totally still, both trying to hold on when their bodies couldn’t contain the feelings welling inside anymore and they spontaneously broke into orgasms
. He yelled. She realized she was shrieking. Every nerve in her body tensed and exploded. They rutted like rabbits, frantically, as the orgasm went on and on. It wasn’t so much multiple orgasms as one single, unending cascade. Greta whipped her head back and forth, thrusting her swollen breasts out. Lan grabbed them, kneading, as his loins thrust her up and she pounded down on him. The spurting inside her went on and on.
How long they were locked together—exploding, pounding, shouting—she had no idea. But it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. It wouldn’t let her go.
And then, with a final twist, a last shriek, it was over, She collapsed on top of him. He went limp all over. She felt far away from herself, drifting. It was as though the tide had taken her out too far and she didn’t have the strength to swim back to shore. It was night. The water was dark. Finally, it claimed her.
*
Lanyon struggled up through the shrouds of cotton in his head to consciousness. The room was dark now. The moon must have set. Greta lay on top of him. He could feel her regular breathing, her breasts pressed against his chest. At least she wasn’t dead. If she’d felt anything like what he’d experienced earlier tonight, it was a miracle they weren’t both dead. He cautiously touched her hip. She didn’t wake. Her skin was cool to the touch though.
He was still inside her, though his cock had softened. Gently, he moved her off his body. She moaned a little as he grabbed a pillow and laid her head on it. He pulled the coverlet up over them both. His limbs felt like lead. He had never had an orgasm like that before. Never. Not even in the same league. Was that natural?
Of course not. It had nothing to do with natural intercourse and everything to do with the magic in his damned DNA. Fuck you, Merlin. Some gift.
He hauled his body up on one elbow to better look at her. She was beautiful: tousled, her lips a little swollen. She smelled of sex, but he could also detect the aroma of the soap she used and the shampoo or conditioner or something, and beneath all that a subtle scent that was just…Greta. He knew why his senses were so acute. He knew why the sex had been mind-blowing.
She’d dragged him into everything he’d wanted to avoid. His head must be in worse shape than he thought, because, depressing as that was, there was a little part of him that was…calm.
He shouldn’t be calm. His life had never been so out of his control. It was as if he had no choice but to make love to Greta. Well, of course. She was his Destiny. And, by the way, that was not making love. There’d been nothing tender or loving about it. It was animal sex, and he hated the feeling that he had no choice but to fuck her. That’s what it was. Just fucking.
Was that what all this destiny crap was about? Fucking? Sure. The magic wanted to come together. It wanted to created deeper magic. In offspring. That required fucking.
But it wasn’t that way for his family. Michael and Drew, Tris and Maggie, Dev and Kee, Kemble and Jane, even the Parents had a deep, abiding love for each other that was as spiritual as it was sexual.
But apparently it didn’t work that way for him and this girl lying beside him. No spiritual love. They were just destined to fuck their brains out.
He wasn’t trapped. He could leave. Well, he was. He could never go back to the time before he’d experienced what just happened.
She was trapped, too, of course. She just didn’t know it yet.
He touched her cheek. So soft. He’d never felt anything so fully as her skin against his finger. He’d have to rip her out of his life now and that wouldn’t leave him much. There would be physical pain, of course. But there would also be a gaping hole where ordinary love might once have grown. He had no illusions that he would ever fall in love with someone else in a normal way. Tender evenings by the TV, two kids and a picket fence—not for him. No, his choice was this terrible genetic intensity or nothing. If Greta died, he wouldn’t get back everyday love. Michael’s first had wife died. He’d become an alcoholic on his way to self-destruction. He did find love again with Drew, but it was the same genetic ‘True Love Destiny’ stuff.
Apparently, you couldn’t escape it.
Too bad Greta was condemned to the same fate. Her life was pretty much in the crapper, too. And she wouldn’t even know why she felt so bereft.
Of course, the Clan would be out there, waiting for him. That was okay. It would at least end the suspense and the pain of loss. Or maybe they didn’t care about him. That might be the worst punishment of all. He and Greta would both drift through life with half a soul.
Magic…He’d almost forgotten about that.
His DNA was activated now, so he should have a power. No question about what his power would be. What kind of a shit-ass power was music? He’d never been a serious part of the family’s purpose. He was always the joker, the background music. And now he was going to get a shitty power that wouldn’t help anybody. He’d always known it. Maybe the reason he’d been running was to avoid the issue altogether. If Morgan killed him before he got his damned power, he’d never be shamed by it.
Probably wouldn’t make any difference even if he got a good power like starting fires or something. Nothing was going to save his family from Morgan. If even Senior couldn’t stand against the Clan…the end was a foregone conclusion.
A chord crashed through his mind. The music tumbled into life, confused, atonal, a perfect expression of his soul at this moment. To his surprise, it steadied. A delicate melody softly drowned out the cacophony until it faded away. He found himself staring down at Greta and he knew that melody was hers.
How had that happened? Music rose inside him now, the chords stronger. Different instruments were coming in for their parts. It was complex, intriguing.
He eased himself out of the covers, leaving Greta to sleep. He went over to the desk and grabbed some tablature paper and his jeans. He’d go outside on the terrace where he wouldn’t wake her and just get this down while he could still remember it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‡
“They’re going to wake Tammy up if they keep yelling like that,” Tris grumbled. He and Kemble were sharing a glass of Lagavulin 16 year in the dark on the terrace as they listened to the pair in the Bay of Pigs consummate the inevitable. Couldn’t his little brother keep it down?
“Trust me, she’s awake,” Kemble muttered, sitting in a teak armchair. “Her bedroom is right above them. Jane’s probably not getting much sleep in our room, either. I just hope Mother can’t hear them.”
To confirm his theory, Jane appeared, wrapping her warm chenille robe around her body.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Tris asked as a shriek spiraled up from behind her. Stupid question.
Jane gave a rueful smile. “Not much.”
“What’s that Paul Simon song? ‘Couple in the next room bound to win a prize. They’ve been goin’ at it all night long.’” Tris resolved to make light of the embarrassing situation.
Kemble sloshed Scotch down his throat. “At least they’re finally irrevocably committed. That was getting tense.” He grabbed the bottle from the terrace bar and lifted it. “Want something, honey?”
Jane shook her head and hugged her body. “I just wish they were committed. This is happening too fast for them. They hardly know each other.”
Kemble beckoned to her and she sat in his lap. He put his glass in the other hand and drew her close. “Not everyone took years to develop their relationship like we did.”
Tris knew Jane had loved Kemble since she was twelve or fourteen. The sentiment hadn’t been returned, though, until they’d actually married, and their love hadn’t blossomed fully until it was mutual. But that wasn’t true of some others in the family. “Got to agree with you, Bro. Drew went after Michael when she’d only seen him on TV. And Maggie and me…well, I’ll tell you, I had the biggest, most painful…” He realized he’d started on a course he couldn’t finish in front of Jane. Must be the Scotch. “Well, I mean, we were, uh, attracted from the start.” He fumbled with his glass. Good thin
g it was dark out here or his blush would finish the sentence for him. “It’s pretty much hell when you have no idea what’s going on, or don’t know much about your partner.”
Jane slid her arm around her husband’s neck, looking at Tris thoughtfully. “That’s why you have to intervene,” she said. “You understand.”
“What’s to intervene?” Kemble protested. Good thing, because Tris was speechless. What did she want him to do? March into Lan’s room and stop them in the act?
“You know he’ll bolt, once he, uh, calms down.” Jane s looked between them, startled. “You don’t think he’s going to give in without a fight do you? He wants no part of the family’s Destiny, what with the Clan plotting to control who knows what about the world and kill us all into the bargain.”
“He’s always known this would happen,” Kemble muttered.
“But Brian was the dyke that held back his fear about even having a Destiny. We all thought Brian could take care of anything. And now that security isn’t there anymore. Lan’s afraid of the future, afraid of the Clan, afraid he has no control over his life anymore.”
Neither man knew what to say to that.
“When you have a Destiny some things aren’t up to you. He’s been running from it for more than a year.” She shook her head. “As if you could escape it.” She heaved a sigh. “No, the sudden way it’s caught up with him…the intensity…that will scare him to death. He’ll be out the door just like last time they got close to, uh, consummating their relationship.”
“They got close?” the men asked in unison. Then both sipped their drink, embarrassed.
Jane looked impatient. “The other night? When he brought her here?” She caught herself. “Oh, you didn’t see him out on the lawn. He was, um, trying to relieve the tension.”
Kemble’s eyes got big then angry. “You’re kidding. He was jerking off? Was he naked?”
Jane shrugged.
“Out on the lawn? Where anybody—like Tammy—could see him? I’ll have his hide—”
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