On the Edge of Love (Mama's Brood Book 1)

by Rucker, Shay

  He massaged the flesh covering her pelvic bone with his thumbs before stroking his hand over the roundness of her ass. He inhaled the moist scent of her arousal mixed with his soap, branding her head to toe as his. Before their time together was done, he would have marked her so deeply, any thought of sex would always resurrect his image, his taste, his touch, him.

  He pushed a finger deep inside of her. Her breathing stuttered. So fucking wet. He pushed another finger inside and worked her with both hand and mouth, lingering because this gave him so much pleasure his dick was on the verge of exploding without even being inside of her. He was losing himself in her, and he didn’t lose himself with women. He may suck, he always fucked, he came, and he left. He didn’t want anything more, and he didn’t give anything more.

  He was so attuned to Sabrina he felt the moment her breathing changed and she began her descent. She came in an explosive wave of orgasmic energy that flowed into him.

  Once her body calmed, softened, her hands stroked his hair, fingers both light and soothing. He stilled and closed his eyes, savoring the gentleness of her touch. He would never forget this one moment. He would engrave it in his memory, in his sensory structure. No one had ever touched him this way before. No one had ever played in his hair. He’d had it grabbed from the back once as his attacker used it to slam his face into a grimy stone wall back when he was young. He’d had it raked with impatient, manicured fingernails, even had it chopped off by nuns who hadn’t the patience to deal with its unruliness. No one had ever played in it. He likely wouldn’t have tolerated it if any woman other than Sabrina had tried.

  His body grew lethargic as he enjoyed a sensation so compelling that it overrode his need to come. He rested his head on her hip and pulled his fingers out of her warmth, reaching around to hold on to her thigh. He sighed. Sex in a minute. Soon, he promised as he his body grew heavy and his mind slowed.

  THOUGH ZEUS WAS asleep, Sabrina continued to stroke hair soft as sheared silk. It should be a sin for a man so hard and unmanageable to have such soft hair. A part of her believed it wouldn’t matter if his hair was coarse, locked, thin, permed—well, maybe not permed—she would find pleasure in gliding her fingers over it.

  She liked this intimacy, liked that he allowed it, seemed to take pleasure in it. She smiled. He’d liked it so much he’d been distracted from finding his own release.

  Feeling his stubbled cheek against her naked skin, Sabrina frowned. Didn’t she have pajamas on when she went to sleep? Looking down, she saw she was naked and Zeus had cut the clothing from her body. Lord, she thought as she resisted the urge to grab his oh-so-fucking-soft strands and toss him off her. She definitely did not have enough clothes to have him cutting them off her when the mood hit him.

  Instead of abusing his hair, she soothed herself by continuing to stroke it. I’ll just tell him, she thought. No more cutting up clothes. He had the capacity to be practical sometimes. Maybe he thought it was romantic to cut the clothes off his bed partners. Her snort of laughter filled the room, causing Zeus to growl in his sleep. He’s just like a big jungle cat that doesn’t like being disturbed, she thought, smiling. Zeus settled, gripping her hip as if she were his custom-made pillow.

  She closed her eyes, relaxing into the moment. It was a terribly bad idea to indulge in feelings of fondness, intimacy, and connection when it came to Zeus. He was a killer, and she was in hiding, hunted long before this Kragen guy came into the picture.

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t have anything to do with disturbed, violent men once she’d left Ernesto. Zeus was as disturbed and violent as any man she’d ever known, and she was lying in bed with him, still wanting him inside of her, embedded so deeply they both forgot what it meant to be apart. That’s how deep her damage went. She hoped this wasn’t yet another Samora curse—attracting and being attracted to killers. She should get up, go to the smaller room, and in due time walk away from a bad choice before a choice had to be made. Five minutes, she promised herself as she relaxed into the pillow, not fully ready to let go of his warmth or the steadiness of him pressing her into the bed. In five minutes, she would leave.

  In two minutes, she was asleep.

  * * * *

  Maxim was back at his hotel suite before the clock struck midnight. With the witching hour upon him, he felt compelled to do something dark and dangerous. Unleash the rage he’d held in check for the better part of the day as he lay in the hospital.

  He couldn’t go back to his house on the coast because he believed the police or the people protecting Sabrina would follow him and find out about the location. He didn’t have Sabrina. No, not only did he not have her, the oversize ape who’d killed two of his men and almost had him arrested had her. Maxim didn’t want to contemplate what Zeus was doing to her. No one, not even the police, knew where he had taken her. If the police knew, Maxim’s informant would have reported the information to him.

  To top off this hellacious day, he was back in the overcast gloom of San Francisco. He was really beginning to hate this city. A phone, his phone, rang somewhere in the suite, but he ignored it. He hobbled to the bathroom to examine the damage the flat-eyed killer had done to his shoulder. Eight bloody stitches. And if it hadn’t been for the ruthless negotiation of one of the best lawyers money could buy, he and his eight stitches would be secured in housing generously provided by California’s correctional system.

  Maxim shifted his gaze in the mirror and saw Reed’s reflection in the doorway, holding a phone out to him.

  “No calls, Reed.”

  “It’s your father, sir. He won’t be put off by some ‘brainless flunky.’ He said he would talk to you by phone or in person, your choice.”

  Maxim didn’t hold back his sneer. Reed was more intelligent than any person on his father’s staff, and unlike them, Reed was pleasant to be around.

  He stepped forward and grabbed the phone, taking it off mute. “Father.”

  “Maxim, imagine my disappointment when I received a call from Elias stating you were under investigation for kidnapping.”

  “Must I?” Maxim said, stepping back to the mirror and retaping the bandage covering his shoulder wound.

  Silence stretched out on the other end. Maxim could picture the angry flush spreading across his father’s face. It was there every time Maxim said something “impertinent.”

  Gin and tonic, Maxim mouthed to his assistant. After the day he’d had, it was more than acceptable for him to drink straight from the bottle and chase it with a handful of pain pills if he chose.

  “Why are you doing this? You should have moved on from that indiscretion years ago, but no, you take this woman who was nothing—no family, no status—and you pretended she was more than she could ever hope to be. How many times have I told you, boy, you let nothings go. You never hold on to them. But you. No, you track them down and play out some parody of love. I will not let you put your mother through the humiliations of having to deal with your twisted infatuations again. You end this.”

  The or else hovered, unspoken, but Maxim heard it loud and clear.

  “Threaten me, old man, and I may be forced to react.” The bastard knew Maxim did not react well to threats. He always had a habit of retaliating in very unseemly ways. “So, I trust the gathering in the UK is going as you planned?” he asked, stepping out of the bathroom and flicking the light switch off.

  * * * *

  “Goddamn it,” Zeus shouted as he shot up in the empty bed. What had happened? Had she drugged him? She was conniving. He wouldn’t put it past her. One minute he’d been in her, readying her for a deeper invasion, and then…nothing. She’d drugged him or knocked him unconscious or…

  Where the hell was she?

  He pushed off the bed, naked save for the crumpled pieces of her clothing stuck to his skin. Frustration urged him to shred them into confetti-like bits.

  “Sabrina,” he yelled, something he normally didn’t do. He felt a slight unease when there was no response. He
grabbed his kukri and his Bowie and stepped out of the bedroom into the empty kitchen, only to be greeted by more silence.

  The Bowie began to tap against his thigh as he imagined Maxim’s men coming to his cabin, disarming…disarming… Hell. He hadn’t done a perimeter check, set the alarm, or cuffed Sabrina to the bed frame before he’d lost consciousness. She could be long gone. She could have taken his keys, fought off her killer rabbits, and left him.

  “Sabrina!”

  Silence.

  He stalked toward the front of the cabin and froze at the opening to the living room. The room was spotless and gleaming, but it was the sight of Sabrina sitting on the sofa wearing a tank top and boy shorts, his earphones on as she played Insidious Realm—one of the best role-playing games ever—that had him cocking his head in confusion.

  “Thought you didn’t play video games.”

  She didn’t respond. He walked over to her, and she barely spared him a glance as she battled a troll. And quickly died.

  She snatched the headphones off her head and glared at him as if it was his fault. “This game sucks. It’s too damned hard.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Yes, the fuck, it is.”

  Like he was gonna argue. The game did not suck. She just sucked at it. “How long you been playing?”

  “Three hours. Three freaking hours of my life I’ll never be able to get back.”

  “You like it.”

  Her head fell forward in defeat. “I do.”

  He stood her up, sat down, and resettled her on his lap. Her body was tense, not languid and malleable like it had been the night before.

  “You’re naked,” she muttered.

  “I’m also as hard as a fucking pike, but I don’t hear you saying anything about that.”

  She tried to stand, but he held her around her waist with one arm while maneuvering the controller with his free hand. She relaxed a little when he hit the menu button and brought his hands together, resting the controller on her stomach. She leaned back against his chest, watching the screen as he went through the weapons, magical items, and tools she’d accumulated thus far. He shook his head in disgust and proceeded to delete her saved game.

  “Hey.” She reared up, reaching for the controller, trying to pry it from his grasp. “That was my game.”

  “We have to start at the beginning so you can learn what to do. You’re not going to beat the troll because you don’t have enough knowledge, skills, or the right weapons to beat him.”

  She looked over her shoulder and scowled at him. He could tell she wanted to yell at him, but she also wanted to know how to defeat the creature. He waited as she worked it out. Eventually she squinted, giving him the evil eye. He made sure his gaze was stony, though he felt like grinning at her intimidation tactic. She turned and leaned back into him, crossing her arms over her chest to indicate she was still pissed. As if he gave a shit.

  When she wiggled her ass, impatient for him to continue, he was caught in a dilemma. His dick urged him to throw the controller across the room so he could play his own game with her body.

  “Show me already,” Sabrina demanded as she flicked her hand out toward the television screen.

  His eyes darted between the controller and her breasts. Show her. What should he show her? How to play a game he’d mastered ten times over, or how to navigate the crown of his penis into her mouth? Handless. With her eyes closed. His grip loosened on the controller. Show her.

  She reached down and took the controller away from him. “To hell with it. I’ll work it out myself. I was doing fine before you interrupted me, anyway.”

  “You’d died.”

  “I would’ve figured it out. That’s what I did before you barged in.” She adjusted herself on his lap again, and he groaned. “And I’m not having sex with you, so you can tell your little friend to stand down, go back to sleep, or whatever it is they do when they’re not needed.”

  “Hang around,” he said, taking back the controller and inputting her name.

  “What?”

  “They just hang around until they’re needed.”

  He scrolled to the character she had chosen for herself before and selected it again. He went to the main weapons window and scrolled through the choices, pausing when he noticed her back vibrating against his chest. When he looked over at her, she was laughing silently.

  He frowned. “What?”

  She smiled, and his thumb twitched spastically over the bud of the controller. He wanted to suck her smile straight into him, store it away inside, unearthing it only when he was trapped in the dark, ugly place that sometimes descended over him.

  His eyes flicked back to the TV. “Why did you choose the mallet? It’s too big for your character.”

  She laid the back of her head on his shoulder. “I chose it because I wanted to beat my enemies into a bloody pulp.”

  He flicked the cursor to the Genesis Sword. It didn’t look like much, but it would evolve into a powerful weapon of pure killing beauty. He clicked on it.

  “Why that one?” she asked.

  Was she aware her foot was stroking up and down his shin?

  “It’s light and sharp. The best choice for this character. You can move easily with it, and it gives you distance—not too much but enough. Always go with something that’s strong, dependable, and cuts clean.”

  “Reminds me of you.”

  “Exactly like me. The best choice for you.”

  She snorted and snatched the controller when he chose garments which left her character almost nude beneath the black cloak. Rude.

  The final area of selection was her magical abilities. Here they had a problem. Big problem. He’d helped her to see reason with the first two items, but she wasn’t budging on the last two. When he tried to wrestle the controller away from him, she bit him. To stop himself from pinning her beneath him and biting her back while sticking his dick into her hard and fast, he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and breathed, because it was pointless to try and reason with a woman who obviously had something against the state.

  When he opened his eyes, she was sitting straight up in his lap, her legs bent with her feet steepled together between his knees. She had chosen healing as her third magical selection, switching it to her primary magic.

  Ridiculous.

  At least he’d talked her into Medusa Magic, which allowed her character to temporarily freeze opponents, and Ethereal Magic, the ability to move about unseen.

  “Sabrina, this character needs more offensive magic. She’s physically weaker. To win, you—”

  “Black Thorn is my character. I’ve given you your say, but I’m keeping healing and choosing…”

  She scrolled to the glittery pouch and selected it. “Glamour.”

  By the gods and devils of torment, she was killing him.

  “Oh hush,” she said when the metal of his blade rapidly tapped against the wooden part of the seat frame. His hand stilled. “Black Thorn will need this when she’s talking to those tight-lipped villagers, or when she has to be seen as someone or something that will help her in her quest.”

  Her quest would end quickly with these bullshit choices. He tried reason one more time. “Sabrina, there’s a creature on the tenth level that won’t—”

  “Look,” she snapped, turning back to him. “I let you dress Black Thorn in straps of skimpy material and didn’t say shit. I’m choosing healing and glamour, so follow my earlier lead and don’t say shit else about it.”

  She turned back to the screen and pressed the button to begin the opening narration and animation.

  He settled back and relaxed against the sofa. “You’re not going to win.”

  “Oh, I’ll win,” she said, standing up and walking over to the television.

  He liked watching the sway of her hips encased in the hugging underwear she wore. His friend twitched. When she crouched down and pulled the headphones from the console, allowing the ethereal music to permeate t
he front room, his breath quickened as he remembered her kneeling on her futon as he slammed into her over and over without restraint.

  “I’ll win just so I can rub it in your face.”

  She turned and paused, her gaze automatically moving to the part of him silently trying to make her see it was the joystick she should be playing with. She moistened her lips, her chest rising and falling a little more shallowly. Was she remembering the feel of him thrusting inside her? Remembering how her satin vagina pulled like a tourniquet around him, squeezing him until he burst open inside her, drenching her fruit with his cream.

  He didn’t utter a word. He wanted her to be compelled by her own need. When her gaze slid up his chest to his face, and came to rest at a point behind his head on the wall, his chest deflated, though his dick continued to hold out hope.

  “Either put it away or get out of my seat.”

  His eyebrow rose as he contemplated her long and hard, waiting for her to realize she didn’t own anything in over a hundred-mile radius except for the few contents packed in her bags. The rest was his, including her. He had handcuffs in his duffel bag. He could strip her naked, secure her to the headboard of his bed, and let his friend do the rest.

  With the hand holding the Bowie, he waved her over to him.

  She tried to suppress a triumphant smile but failed spectacularly. She scrambled back to him and adjusted herself around his erection again. He watched as she went on her adventure across Moreland. His blade, tapping against the wood at a steady clip, drew his focus away from the piece of flesh straining between her open legs.

  She paused the game and looked back at him in exasperation.

  “Just play the fucking game and don’t say shit else about it,” he said flatly, mirroring her earlier words.

  She shrugged and turned, lying fully back against him, doing exactly as he commanded. A short time later he wanted to drag his blade across his throat.

  She had to be the most aggravating, nonsensical player in the history of people across the world that had played any game ever. She did what she wanted to do and rarely took his well-thought-out advice. It was divine intervention that made him throw his blade across the room when she bought another cloak instead of the magically created shield in the Elven store.