Blood Knot

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She realized her forehead was resting on Nial’s shoulder and her arm was loosely around his neck. His hand was soothing her back.

  But his body was still raging with an arousal so powerful if it had been radiation a lighthouse could have guided ships by it.

  Winter could feel her own body responding as if it was radiation. She was stirring, rousing, becoming infected immediately, despite her heart still racing from her powerful climax. Or perhaps that even helped. Her clit was still throbbing. She could still feel the imprint of Nial’s fingers being inside her. Her pussy was still moist and hot and ready.

  Winter pulled off her bra and tossed it toward the untouched pillows.

  Nial watched but didn’t comment. His heart, though, gave a little skip.

  She reached for his sweater and pulled it up and over his head.

  Nial’s sweater had outlined what appeared to be agreeably built musculature and that proved to be correct. Nial had all the muscle the mounds and dips in the cashmere had hinted at.

  The cashmere had hidden the scars.

  There weren’t a lot. Just three. Two on his chest and one on the arm. But they looked brutal and badly healed.

  Winter tried not to react, to let her gaze pass over them and on. But she failed.

  “Look at them,” Nial told her. “They’re part of me.”

  “I thought…don’t you heal?” she asked.

  “I got these when I was human,” he said simply. He smiled a little. “My back is worse. Slaves were most often whipped on their backs.”

  Winter bit her lip, looking at the disfigurements. Then she leaned down and deliberately kissed them. She felt Nial’s shock. His hand touched her head, then slid into it.

  “Turn and lie down,” she told him.

  “If I must,” he said, but his body gave lie to the neutral tone. It leapt.

  He managed to turn in the tight quarters and lie across the narrow beds, yet still keep Winter straddled across his hips. She moved enough to give herself access to his trousers. Nial’s crotch was a congested, swollen mound.

  Winter stripped him of the rest of his clothing, feasting on the sight of his cock. From her gazes inside him, she knew this organ functioned just as did every other man’s except for one crucial difference—Nial was sterile and utterly unable to catch any sort of sexual disease. She could have unprotected sex with him with a completely free conscience.

  But in every other regard Nial was completely male.

  Utterly so. She stroked him and his pelvis lifted and his cock jerked. Veins ran the length of the shaft, engorged and thick. The head flared, purple with excitement and a bead of pre-come appeared.

  Winter cupped his testicles. They were swollen, heavy in her hand and she squeezed gently, making Nial draw in his breath in a shuddering, long hiss.

  She smiled, watching him through her eyelashes. It was powerful, watching Nial groan under her hand. She reached beneath and stroked the sensitive perineum and was rewarded with not just his groan but the thrust of his hips and his hands gripping the sheets.

  Sensitive…

  Her heart racing, she leaned down and ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, letting it bump over the head and swirl around the dimpled eye.

  Nial’s moan was like music, played off against the internal sensations of his body beating and swelling and responding to her touch. Winter loved to fuck a man with her mouth, but she had never deliberately used her talent to get feedback on what worked and what didn’t before. It was only now, because Nial had agreed to let her read him for lies, now that she was constantly touching inside him, that it occurred to her to use her talent in this extraordinary way. Normally she tried to be…well, normal.

  But Nial wasn’t normal.

  And neither was she.

  Winter curled her fingers about the base of his cock and slipped her lips over the head. She let her throat relax and pushed him as far inside as possible, then slid her lips back up the shaft to bump over the head.

  Nial couldn’t even groan, the tension in his body was too tight. His climax leapt closer.

  Winter settled in to drive Nial as mad as possible, using her talent to read just how close to climax she could bring him, then let him subside before building him up, again and again, with her mouth and hands orchestrating a medley on his cock and testicles, perineum and around the sensitive tissues of his anus.

  She knew without looking that his canines were fully descended, just by the way his fingers were digging into the sheets next to her thigh, the knuckles white. He was making hoarse, breathless sounds.

  Finally, Winter leisurely straddled his hips once more, steadying herself on his shoulders, as his chest heaved. She lowered herself down slowly onto his cock, clenching herself around him on the way down.

  Nial closed his eyes as she slid down, his hands gripping her hips. “I won’t bother asking if you know what you’re doing to me. You know full well.” His voice was hoarse. “Just finish me off and hurry.”

  “Rembrandt never hurried anything.”

  He groaned and rolled his head back. “I’ll hurry you myself if you don’t,” he warned. There was a note in his voice that she took seriously. She had tested his mettle and patience enough. Winter lifted herself up enough to push down upon him again. She began to ride his cock, letting him thrust inside her.

  It took very little more. A few hard, deep strokes inside her and Nial exploded in a climax that almost lifted him off the bed in a hard arch that made the tendons in his neck strain and his fingers dig into her hips.

  His hands slipped under her neck and her ass and he flipped her on her back in one fast blur of movement she felt dizzy.

  His cock was still inside her. Still erect.

  Nial lifted her thigh, sliding his arm under her knee. “You’ve made me sweat,” he growled. “Do you know how long it is since a woman made me break out in a sweat in bed?”

  He pulled out of her nearly all the way and thrust back into her. She gasped.

  “Do you know how long it is since I was worked up enough to sweat at all?” he asked and thrust into her again, another hard, demanding stroke.

  Winter could feel the heat from his body. He wasn’t lying. He was human hot. Sweaty. His body was working overtime. And he was driven to reach another climax. She could feel his pleasure building—it hadn’t fully dissipated, the last climax hadn’t been enough. He needed more.

  Winter rested her hand against his cheek. “Come for me,” she murmured. “Come with me.” For she could feel her own orgasm building just because she had touched his growing excitement.

  Deliberately, she sank into Nial’s senses, mingling with them. She gasped as the sensations twined and leapt upwards. “Hurry,” she breathed.

  “Yes,” he agreed, slamming into her.

  They came together, just as he had promised. It was a breath-robbing and heart-pausing moment that seemed to spin out for moments on end. Nial hung over her, beads of perspiration at his temples and she could feel his cock pulsing inside her as he came.

  The after-shocks rippled through her, making her shudder as she stared up at him.

  Nial lowered her thigh and himself on one elbow over her. His cock still rested inside her. He kissed her long and hard. “I, for one, am very glad you are not quite human, Winter Kennedy,” he said softly.

  It touched her as he had intended it to. But that didn’t stop the sting of the underlying truth: Sebastian had been searching for human love and she hadn’t been able to supply it. The man they were racing to rescue was bound to a woman he didn’t want.

  Chapter Eight

  WHEN WINTER WOKE, she became aware of nearly half a dozen factors almost immediately.

  The cabin lights were brighter, including those in their twin suite. There was hot food nearby. It included coffee and something that had maple syrup in it. Possibly oatmeal. People were moving about the cabin beyond the doors.

  Sometime during the night, Nial had dressed her again�
�at least in her skirt and camisole. And now he was curled behind her, around the length of her body, under the blanket that he had placed over her sometime while she had slept. One arm was tucked over her waist and the hand cupped her breast.

  The fingers of his other hand were drawing her hair away from her temple. “I’m sorry to wake you, but Hong Kong is only ninety minutes away and your breakfast is going cold,” he murmured in her ear.

  “Maple and raisin oatmeal and coffee,” she replied.

  “And tropical fruit salad. The hot course will be along as soon as you choose which of the five entrees you want. I’m hoping you pick the honeyed ham so I can kiss you after each bite.” His lips pressed against her temple. “You can also choose to shower between this and the hot course, too, if you want.”

  She groaned with delight and sat up. “A shower!”

  Nial rested his head on his hand. He was fully dressed and from the state of his clothes and hair, it looked like he had already showered. “What is it about hot showers and baths that send women into hysterics like that? I still don’t understand it and they were doing it when I was a child.”

  “It’s a woman thing,” she assured him and leaned forward to pick up the still steaming coffee cup and sip. “You never will.”

  “Very well,” he said, sounding resigned. “Don’t spill that coffee,” he added. “No one is around to accuse you of being in love here.”

  She looked at him over the top of it, trying to keep her gaze steady. “Why did you decide to pretend we were married, anyway?”

  “Quickest way to off-load any pesky travelers who wanted to start up a drinking session.” He shrugged. “And it was a good explanation for you and I disappearing into our suite and not re-emerging.”

  She could feel her face heating, but ignored it. “And you just happened to have a convenient wedding ring in my size on you?” She held up her left hand with the Claddagh ring.

  Nial reached into his pocket and pulled out something. He poured a fine gold chain onto the sheet between them. “I used to wear it around my neck because it wouldn’t fit my fingers and I didn’t want to get it resized.” He looked at her. “It was Sebastian’s,” he said.

  She gripped the coffee cup, feeling a little sick. “You put it on me?”

  “He wouldn’t mind,” Nial assured her. “It was his mother’s, a long time ago. He refused to have it resized, too. I followed suit.” He lay on his back. “It seems appropriate that it fits you.”

  “Why?” she snapped suspiciously.

  Nial glanced at her and grinned. “Sebastian’s mother was a fiery redhead. Independent. Feisty. And she would have kicked butt if she had been born in this day and age.” He picked up a lock of her hair from around her waist. “Please do me a personal favor, Winter? Don’t change your hair again.”

  Winter put her cup down on the shelf with a thump that made the contents slosh. “I can’t,” she muttered, feeling the flicker of low-grade anger.

  Nial sat up properly, one knee cocked. “Why not? You changed it once already.”

  Winter plucked at the wrinkled sheet in front of her. “I don’t know. I think…it’s something to do with Sebastian’s blood. It’s locked me into this color. Now I know that his mother is a redhead, that makes me even more certain his blood has something to do with it. I made the change to red just after he…we…the second feeding, the last time he saw me. Then after about three or four months I tried to change back and I couldn’t.”

  Nial picked up her hand, the one pulling at the sheet. “What happened? What made you try to change back?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  He just looked at her.

  “Honestly!” she told him.

  He lifted a brow.

  “It was a whole lot of little things,” she finished.

  “And those little things were…?”

  She winced. “Men hitting on me,” she said, knowing how stupid and utterly arrogant it sounded.

  Nial smiled. The smile turned into a grin. But he managed not to laugh. “You like your men under your control that much, Winter?”

  “Apparently.”

  He sighed. “Well, you’re just going to have to settle for being a redheaded man-magnet.” He kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll fend off the men hitting on you. Will that make you feel better?”

  She took a breath. Through the touch of his hand she could tell that he actually meant it. He sounded flip, but there was a core of determination in him. “Yes,” she whispered, feeling ridiculously close to tears. “It makes me feel much better.”

  “Good. Now, eat your breakfast.” He held out the coffee cup again.

  She took off the ring. “You should take this back.”

  He closed her fingers over it. “Wear it for now,” he told her. “Pete needs to see it on your finger for the rest of this flight. Besides, I broke the chain getting it off so fast last night. The safest place for the ring is on your finger where it fits and won’t get lost.”

  She put it back on and tried to fight the small feeling of pleasure she got from wearing it by reminding herself the symbolism was purely a scam.

  It didn’t help.

  And every time she saw the ring on her finger, she simultaneously thought of both Sebastian and Nial and the odd heritage of the ring.

  It should have been warning enough.

  * * * * *

  United Emirates made the transfer at Hong Kong smooth and seamless as possible, with a comfortable wait in their lounge before boarding another aircraft for the long haul down to Perth.

  It was there that for the first time Winter became aware of the speculative stares they were attracting. Not all of the stares and looks were discreet, either. Some of the passengers were openly studying them.

  “You’ve fallen silent,” Nial pointed out.

  “People are watching us.”

  “They’re watching you, is more to the point.”

  She gave a low laugh. “Nial, you’re not that modest.”

  “True. But in this case, I’m not fooling myself, either.” He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. Winter was fast getting used to the gesture and growing to like it, to the point where she held her breath, wondering if he would stroke her fingers with his tongue, or fix her gaze with his own, or something else entirely…

  This time he did neither, but she still enjoyed the touch of his lips on the back of her hand. He spread her hand over his thigh and stroked the back of it as he spoke. “You admitted you chose your clothes with me in mind, did you not?”

  “A little, Nial. I really do prefer skirts for travelling. The shelf bra…” She found the corners of her mouth lifting. “That was a last minute addition, yes.”

  “And the ankle boots with the heels?” He slid his finger between hers, making her flesh tingle. “Do you always take such care with your make-up to sit around in a transit lounge, hmmm?” He was smiling as he teased.

  “Well, no,” she agreed.

  “Besides,” he added, “Every time I glimpse the lacy tops of your stockings, my heart leaps, just as you intended it should. But mine is not the only heart that stutters and hurries along, Winter. There is not a single hot blooded male here between fifteen and fifty-five who hasn’t looked you over and fantasized about what it would be like to know you in some intimate fashion.”

  Winter felt pulling on her hand and looked down. She was trying to yanking her hand away from Nial’s grip.

  “You are perfectly safe with me, remember?” His volume was just enough to reach her ears.

  Winter nodded. Nial was one of the most dangerous men—creatures—to walk the globe. And he stood between her and every man in this room.

  She took a breath. And another. She poured endorphins and calming chemicals into her body. Peace returned.

  And Nial watched it all.

  Oh well. This was part of truth-telling, she realized. He got to see her panic and pain as well as her good side.

  Nial brushed her h
air back over her shoulder. “Let them admire you,” he murmured into her ear. “It is harmless. You can continue to pick and choose on your terms. And I will always come to your aid if you call, because I understand.”

  Winter looked at him. “You do?”

  He nodded. “We are survivors, remember?” He leaned very close to her, his arm around her waist. To others it would look like they were trading an intimate, sexy whisper. His lips brushed her ear, his hand twined in hers. “How many times did you submit to rape before you learned to use your talent to beat off the attacks?”

  Winter had long ago subsumed the knowledge. Buried it. So the question didn’t make her jump. It just made her sad. “Four,” she said with a sigh. “But only the last time was very bad because by then I understood what it meant.” Then she focused on Nial’s words. We are survivors.

  She looked at him. “You, too?”

  He drew a breath that might have been a sigh. “It was the way of it then.”

  Winter bit her lip. “How…many?” She shook her head. “It happened a lot, didn’t it?”

  He smiled, and it was a light-hearted expression. “Unlike you, Winter, I had no talent as a shield. And I was human—and a slave—until I was twenty-eight and had a way to fight back.”

  “How can you be so…happy about it?” she whispered.

  “What’s done is done, Winter. Those times are gone now. Those people are gone. The man I was is gone. Those times formed the man I am and I’m grateful for the lessons they gave me.”

  She touched his face in wonder. “You’re serious.”

  “Well…yes,” he said, sounding surprised that she would ask that.

  “You’re a philosopher,” she breathed.

  He laughed softly. “Live as long as I have and philosophy calcifies into your bones. It’s unavoidable.”

  She found herself smiling with him and thanks to the invisible shield he’d placed in front of her, she didn’t even mind the stares and glances of other people when she caught them.