Winter Igniting

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Then he grabbed her bare butt, partially lifted her, and then pulled her down to take him. He shoved in to the hilt, fully implanting himself in her. Pain shot through her, and she bent over, her forehead slapping his chest.

  He didn’t stop.

  Holding her hips with ruthless fingers, he hammered into her while pulling her down with each thrust.

  The pain shot right into blinding pleasure, and she arched, her head going back. She dug her nails into his skin, trying to hold on, fighting to keep from just exploding into nothingness.

  His thrusts were brutal and overpowering, and she started moving her hips to meet him. Her legs tensed tight, and energy coiled inside her with shocking sparks. His fingers clenched on the sensitive flesh of her butt, digging in, and she detonated.

  She cried out his name, her eyes shutting to keep them from blowing out of her head. Her sex clutched tighter around his hard dick, the vibrations starting there and rippling through her entire body.

  His thrusts, already savage, somehow increased in strength. Her breasts bounced up and down, enhancing every sensation already overtaking her.

  He slid his hands forward and clamped them on her hips, thrusting into her one more time and then staying there. His body jerked with his climax, and his mouth dropped to her neck, where he bit her hard enough to leave a mark.

  She blinked, her mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. Wow. Just wow and then wow again. Her body felt as if she’d run a marathon, but her limbs were as relaxed as humanly possible.

  He leaned back, his nostrils flared and a stain across his rugged cheeks. “You okay?”

  She swallowed and slowly nodded. He was still inside her—still partially hard. “Yes.”

  “Could you retract your nails?” A smile tugged on his full lips.

  Oh. Whoops. She straightened her fingers and then tried to smooth the divots away. Nope. Looked like she’d marked him, too. “I think I like fighting with you.” Well, the making up part anyway.

  He leaned in and kissed her again, this time with a gentleness that stole her breath. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.” Without missing a beat, still holding her aloft, he edged to the side and walked toward the bed, falling down on top of her. Even so, he cushioned her on the landing to protect her.

  She laughed, snuggling her butt into the bed. She curled her fingers. “Hey. What’s up with your abs being tougher than my fist?”

  “I’ll teach you how to punch after you no longer want to punch me,” he said, rubbing his nose against hers, the movement sweet. “This time, you punched and hurt yourself.”

  He’d made sure she knew it, too. Then he’d fucked her up against the wall like a wild man.

  She smoothed her hand over the side of his head, enjoying the freedom to touch him. From the first second she’d met him, she’d felt drawn. “Your skull is perfectly symmetrical.”

  “Good thing. I was worried about the brick, but if the skull remains intact, all will turn out just fine.” He kissed her, his warm lips firm and devastating.

  A brain could still be damaged even with an intact skull. He’d been lucky. “How’s your head?” she asked.

  His smile moved against her lips. “Everything I have feels pretty damn good right now.” He withdrew from her, and she bit back a moan of protest.

  “This is the most relaxed I’ve been in months,” she whispered.

  He took care of the condom, and when he rolled another one into place, her body perked up. Then he was on top of her again, taking his time sliding inside her. Inch by inch, he took her with a deliberation she felt in every nerve.

  More was happening here than casual sex, but she’d worry about that later. His dark gaze captured her as completely as his body did, and she let herself sink into it.

  “This is what’s going to happen,” he said.

  She paused in rubbing her hands down his arms. “Giving orders?”

  “So you say.” He kissed her harder, leaving her lips wanting more. “We’re going to do this again, and then we’re both going to get some sleep. After a too-warm shower tomorrow outside out of buckets, I’ll go get breakfast, bring it here, and then you’ll report on your observations from your visit to the Pure.”

  That sounded reasonable. She wrapped her legs around his waist. “I’m glad we’re on the same page again.”

  “You’ve misread me.” Before she could question him, his mouth was on her breast.

  Within moments, she forgot about everything but how he made her feel.

  Morning would come soon enough.

  34

  Whoa. April really does look like Cherry Valance.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  Damon whistled a hard rock tune as he returned to April’s apartment with two bagels and some Pop-Tarts the scouts had found the previous week. The Pop-Tarts, not the bagels. Those were freshly made and actually smelled delicious.

  The cooks were using generator power to create, and at some point, they were going to run out of fuel.

  Not today, though. Today, he had fresh bagels.

  He pushed inside her apartment, and she sat at the table, her hair wet from her shower. It curled around her face and hung down her back. “Morning.”

  She looked up from a list she’d been making. “Hi.” Her smile brightened an already bright day. “Bagels.”

  “Yes. Atticus already took a bunch to the kids, so you don’t need to worry about them.” He sat and handed over the fragrant bread before taking a bite of his own. It was soft and warm—and pretty much the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten. “We have to figure out a way to keep the power going.”

  She took a bite and moaned, her eyelashes fluttering.

  The woman looked the same way when she climaxed. He grinned. At least he was as good as a fresh bagel. Then he cleared his throat. “All right. Tell me about your night.” The part before he’d fucked her against a wall. His cock jerked at the memory. Yep. Gonna do that again.

  “Well, it was an odd one.” She started telling the story, and his body tensed one muscle at a time until she was through.

  Not only was there a man they didn’t know in the apartment building, but King had caught her where she shouldn’t be. Damon’s mouth had gone dry minutes before.

  April finished talking, her gaze narrowing on him. “You okay?”

  No. Fucking no, not at all. Was she freaking demented? “Yes. Just a little concerned about the danger you might’ve been in.” It was a miracle his voice remained steady. “If this Jerome is a threat, he might’ve taken you out before you could report him. Or if King is a threat, same thing since he found you snooping.”

  She twisted her lip in thought. “I just didn’t feel like I was in danger.”

  All right. Instincts counted, but so did training. And she had none. Zero. Zilch. “What about the breeding chart? Your thoughts?” He had to keep her talking while he calmed himself down. She was here, she was safe, and he’d keep her that way.

  She rubbed her chin. “I believed Pastor King. He’s not on the chart, and he seems to think it’s a little silly. Then he said I look like Cherry Valance.”

  Damon sat back. Holy crap, she did look like Cherry Valance. Every guy who’d had to watch that movie in senior English class had had a dream or two about Cherry. Oh, he’d had to read the book for a report, too. But the film was what stuck in everyone’s mind. The movie and Cherry. “The chart could’ve been falsified.”

  “Maybe.”

  If King wasn’t in it to procreate right off the bat, what was his angle? Was it truly just to keep the uninfected safe? It didn’t feel right, but Damon was off-center when it came to April. King wanted her. There was no question.

  That messed with Damon’s reasoning skills.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” she murmured, playing with a wrapped Pop-Tart. “Still mad at me?”

  “No,” he said instantly. “We dealt with that last night.”

  Pink infused her face. “Yes, we
did.”

  Amusement filled his chest. “I meant before the sex Olympics.” God, she was cute. It was getting hotter outside, but he’d be up for another round if she wanted.

  Her frown drew down both finely arched eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  He paused. Even her scowl was endearing. But her words didn’t make sense. “I’m not following.”

  “No. I’m not following.” She crossed her arms over her black T-shirt that paired way too nicely with her cut-off jeans shorts. “I thought we made up last night.”

  “We did.” Big time with him inside her—where he wanted to be right now.

  Her posture relaxed. “All right, then. What’s our next move with the Pure? I’m thinking I should go back in and maybe flirt with King a little.”

  No. Hell to the triple of no. Damon studied her, his mind clicking facts into place. “I said you’re off the op.”

  “Then we made up.” Frustration crossed her smooth expression. “Right?”

  Huh. All right. “I was mad at you, and we made up. Yes.” He rubbed the non-hurting part of his smooth head. “But that doesn’t change my decision on the op. You’re done.” Hadn’t he been more than clear the night before?

  “And now I’m back in.”

  “Sex doesn’t get you back in. It doesn’t get you anywhere, no matter how fucking great it was.” He explained gently because she truly wasn’t getting him.

  Her eyes flashed a shocking blue. “Excuse me?”

  Well, that had insulted her. Definitely not his intention. He cleared his throat. “On a personal level, we were fighting and made up. On a professional level, I made a decision with the facts available to me, and that sticks. The two are separate.”

  “You took me off the op because you were angry,” she protested.

  “No.” He didn’t make decisions like that out of emotion. Not really. “You disobeyed orders and put yourself in danger that was unnecessary and unwise. As the point person on this op, I took you right off as I would with anybody working for me. As your boyfriend, I smacked your ass. Something I’m feeling might happen again, and rather soon. There’s a difference, and you might want to learn it now.” Although this would be the last op she’d be on, at least if he had his way.

  Her mouth opened and then snapped shut with enough force that he wanted to wince. She glared at him, expressions crossing her face in rapid succession as she thought it through.

  He waited patiently. Even though he was a boot-to-the-door kind of cop, patience dictated that he wait until the right moment to move. He could wait all day for her. She was worth it.

  Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t want to make you mad, but no. I’m going back in.”

  Interesting. He liked this spirited side of her. A lot. Keeping her gaze, he reached into his back pocket and drew out one of their few still-working radios to lift to his mouth. “Winter here. All seven squads watching the Pure building, check in.”

  “Squad one in place,” came the first low voice.

  “Squad two in position,” came over the radio next, followed by the other five squads, each going in order.

  Damon counted their positions in his head. An eighth squad would be overkill, yet he was still tempted. These were both inside and outside the fence, and one was even up high. “Acknowledged,” he said. “Additional directive. April Snyder is not to get within ten yards of the Pure apartment building. She should be stopped if seen. A fireman’s carry is permissible, if—and only if—absolutely necessary. Please acknowledge.”

  April’s eyes widened, and her chin lowered like a cat about to strike.

  “Squad one, acknowledged new directive,” came the first voice.

  As each squad acknowledged his new orders, April’s face flushed. First pink, then crimson, then a deep red.

  Finally, he slipped the radio back into place. “Any questions, baby?”

  Any questions? Yeah. How could he be such a complete ass? She tried to find a way out of the box he’d just put her in, but there was no solution. Those soldiers, even the Vanguard ones, would stick to his orders. “I can’t believe you just did that.” Her throat hurt with the need to scream at him. But if he were staying in control, so was she.

  “There are consequences, April.” He was so calm he might as well be meditating.

  Consequences? What was this? Third grade? “You are such a control freak.”

  His chuckle was rich and warmed inappropriate places inside her. “Look who’s talking.”

  “Me?” She reared back.

  “Oh, yeah. Cute Miss Clipboard has tried to take control of this op from the beginning.” He shook his head. “You’ve ignored orders the entire time, doing what you want.”

  She swallowed. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Those inappropriate places inside her warmed more. This unmovable side of him was kind of sexy. Okay. Majorly sexy. Most people didn’t outsmart her. Ever. The fact that he just did sparked her nerves wide-awake. “I wanted to help people. Those Pure women and kids.”

  “I know,” he said, softly. “Your heart is in the right place, and I like that you want to assist folks who might need it. You’re a good person.”

  She settled down, not quite sure where he was going. “All right.”

  He smiled. “You also wanted to take control and do whatever you wanted.” He leaned back and studied her with freaky hawk-like concentration. “And I think you wanted to push me.”

  “Push you?” she burst out, her heart racing for some reason. How could that be true? “Why?”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Maybe I’ve been too gentle with you. Taken it too slow.” His words were thoughtful, his gaze piercing.

  “Gentle?” she gasped. “I have a hickey on my shoulder and bite marks on my ass.”

  “You can still walk,” he shot back instantly.

  She blinked. Her thighs rubbed together, and she barely kept a moan from escaping. This conversation was quickly spiraling way away from where she wanted it to be. She shook her head to clear it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’m in control on the op whether you like it or not. It’s up to you if I take control personally.”

  She made a strangled sound.

  “But if you give it over, baby, I ain’t giving it back,” he said, looking big and powerful in her small kitchen. “So think that one through completely before you throw down another challenge. Especially if you make the colossal mistake of throwing the challenge by doing something dangerous or plain-ass stupid. Again.”

  She threw her hands out. “How can I do anything stupid? You just guaranteed that if I try to go near Pure again, some Neanderthal of a soldier will haul me back here as punishment.”

  His gaze somehow darkened even more. “Oh, sweetheart. The punishment happens when they inform me they had to put hands on you.” He didn’t move but somehow still took over the entire atmosphere of the kitchen.

  She swallowed. “Excuse me?” It didn’t come out nearly as forceful as earlier.

  “I feel like I haven’t been as clear as I’d like when it comes to the op. So, here it is. If one of those guys has to put hands on you because you’re trying to go where I told you not to go, we’re going to have a very uncomfortable conversation afterward.” He leaned forward.

  She frowned, heat billowing through her head. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. You disobey orders, there are consequences. The consequences will make it not fun for you to sit for a while.”

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t find a word. The man was deadly serious.

  His voice softened. “In a non-work capacity, just let me know when you want me taking over. That may also involve my hand on your ass and an erotic esson, but it’ll be of the more personal nature, and I guarantee you’ll enjoy it, if you know what I mean.”

  Whoa. Way out of her realm of experience. Yet her breasts suddenly ached, and her panties were wet. Thank goodness she was wear
ing denim shorts. “I don’t like this side of you,” she said primly.

  His grin was all wolf. “Liar.”

  35

  I’m gonna be the first guy kicking in the door. That’s a fact.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  “Damn it.” Through the darkened sunglasses, Damon checked the old stopwatch somebody had drummed up. “The third breach is still too late.” He stood on the rooftop of the Vanguard-Merc training facilities, staring down at the three houses currently being infiltrated. “The timing doesn’t have to be exact by any means, but we have to get through the door faster than that, or the enemy will have time to target shoot our asses.”

  Jax Mercury threw down his binoculars. “All right. Should we switch up the teams again?”

  “No.” Damon wiped sweat off his forehead. He, Jax, and Greyson had been on the roof for hours. The merciless sun didn’t give a shit that he’d just had a concussion. “I’ll go in with that team.”

  “No,” Greyson said somberly. “You still have a bruise on your brain.”

  Then what was Damon going to do? Wait in a van somewhere? “I’m not a sniper. You, Jax, and Raze are experienced snipers, and we’ve found three good over-watch positions. I need to be on the ground.”

  “I need you as my spotter,” Grey argued.

  Damon sighed. “I’m no spotter. Come on, you know that.” Sitting still during an op bugged the crap out of him. “Quincy has volunteered to spot for you, and he has experience.”

  Jax scratched his elbow, which was becoming sunburned. Sunglasses protected his eyes but apparently he hadn’t considered sunscreen. “I thought your job here was to strategize. Not sure your head should be in battle quite yet.”

  There didn’t seem to be much choice.

  “All right.” Greyson handed over a canteen, his eyes also shielded by glasses. “Let’s run it through. You’ve been in the sun all day and haven’t eaten. If you can get the timeline right, one chance, I won’t argue against your going.”

  That was fair. Damon tipped back the water and let his body cool.