by Unknown
A twig cracked, and Mayflower’s instincts kicked in. She reached for the blaster, just in case. Suddenly, Mark’s body pressed hers into the floor of the tent and his hand slid across her body. His fingers clasped her grip on the blaster, and his warm breath tickled her ear.
“It’s just Anderson, the guard,” he said.
“Oh.”
Mayflower relaxed her grip on the blaster, but Mark didn’t move. As a matter of fact, he snuggled closer.
“You’re drunk,” Mayflower whispered. Nothing else came to mind.
“No, I tried to drink away my need to fuck you senseless, but it didn’t work. I can’t really get drunk, not after being infected.”
Mayflower allowed her body to mold to his, her pussy twitching. Desire fluttered in her tummy.
“So, is all of it true? About being a vampire, I mean.”
Mark kissed her neck as his fingertips traced a path around the tip of her breast. A strange, liquid sensation started at the top of her head and worked its way through her body. The flutter in her stomach blossomed into full-fledged need.
“Some of it’s true, most of it is bullshit,” he answered, pinching her nipple. Her back arched and her ass instinctively settled next to his groin, eliciting a low rumble. His erection poked her and her pants suddenly felt tight and restrictive.
“So if you’d pissed me off when you were still a vampire, I couldn’t have run a wooden stake through your heart and killed you?”
Mark grunted, nipping her ear. “If I stick a wooden stake in your chest, you’ll die, won’t you? Most people would.”
“Oh.”
“Do you want to kill me, Mayflower?”
Mayflower struggled onto her back and rolled over to face Mark. Even in the darkness, she swore his eyes glowed like beautiful amber with fire behind it.
“If I wanted to kill you, Mark, you’d be dead,” she answered simply. She stroked his face, noticing the tense muscles in his jaw. “Why the fuck do you think I want you dead?”
“You’re Chico’s girl, and Chico Orlando and I didn’t exactly get along.”
Mayflower inched closer, sliding her hand into Mark’s T-shirt. She rubbed the hard muscles in his neck. He didn’t try to stop her.
“Orlando? Chico’s last name was Orlando?” Mayflower almost laughed. Chico certainly didn’t seem like an Orlando, at least, none of the fops she knew. Or maybe he did. He always tried to be something he wasn’t. Sane, for one.
“You were fucking him and didn’t know his last name?” Mark’s tone carried an edge of something Mayflower wasn’t sure she liked. For a guy posing as a Blue Honey, he sure had a strange sense of propriety.
“I didn’t want to know his last name. I didn’t want to marry him. He was a means to an end. I had something he wanted, and I used it to keep Dime safe as long as possible.”
By now, Mark had removed Mayflower’s cargo pants, and the head of his cock played between her soaked pussy lips.
“Why don’t you show me what that was?” Mark suggested, his voice husky with desire.
Mayflower claimed his mouth as he entered her, needing the feel of his lips on hers, the security of his kisses. His tongue mimicked his cock’s slow, delicious rhythm, and pleasant tension pooled in Mayflower’s pussy. Her muscles gripped him as his slow, leisurely thrusts created wonderful friction on her clit. It swelled.
“Sorry, I don’t feel like singing and dancing right now,” she managed, pulling up her top and rubbing her tits across Mark’s crisp chest hairs.
“I bet I can make you sing, baby,” Mark challenged, his sexy timbre vibrating through her body. He lifted her leg over his hip, going deeper, and hot need replaced rational thought.
Mark fucked her, his vodka-flavored kisses making her dizzy. She lost track of anything except Mark’s hands holding her hips steady and his cock entering her over and over again.
“Mayflower, come for me, baby. Sing for me,” Mark coaxed as they neared completion.
Mayflower came, yelling his name, her nails digging into his strong arms. Mark spurted inside her, warming her as his come gushed in wave after wave. Desperate to find his mouth, she kissed his face—his cheeks, his nose, his eyes—until she finally found his lips and settled there, lost in complete contentment.
* * * *
A feeling overwhelmed him as Mark held Mayflower, something he’d not experienced before. Contentment? How would he know? It’d been so long…
Mark’s plan to ingest enough vodka to dull his senses and avoid the wild need making his cock twitch failed miserably. The minute Mayflower’s unique woman’s scent hit his nostrils, his body went into overdrive.
She’d been in Dix’s tent. Something happened there. Something that excited her, the woman he wanted beyond reason. He trusted Dix enough to know it was a good thing. In the end, Mayflower came back to him, even though he’d acted like a brute.
He reveled in the way Mayflower fit in his arms, the way she responded to his touch. The way she trusted him.
Now he had to trust her.
“Mayflower,” he whispered, and she stirred, murmuring into his neck. He hated to wake her, but he had to ask some questions. Lives besides theirs depended on it.
“Hmmm?” She snuggled into him and kissed his neck.
“Do you have any idea what Chico thought you hid?” Mark tried to phrase it delicately, considering his earlier behavior. Mayflower sighed.
“So you believe me now?”
“Yes.”
She paused, as if struggling for words.
“Good, but I still have no idea what the hell he was talking about. I don’t know what I’d done if he’d forced us back to the club.”
She lifted herself away from him, balancing on one elbow. Her fingertip traced a path around his nipple, and his cock hardened. He enfolded her hand in his and kissed the fingertips.
“Can you tell me how you came to be Chico’s girlfriend?”
Mayflower plopped onto her back, tugging her hand away.
“Those are some bad memories you’re asking me to relive just for your curiosity,” she finally said. “Especially since you have a rather unique sexual history yourself there, sport.”
The angry edge in her voice almost masked the hint of sadness in her voice, but not quite.
“Other lives depend on it, or I wouldn’t care.”
Ouch, his words sounded a bit harsh, even to his own ears. It didn’t come out the way he intended, but maybe it was for the best. Mayflower scooted away and turned over. Her muffled, angry voice grew louder as she spoke.
“A few years ago, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Three synthbots attacked me, trying to tear me limb from limb. A good Samaritan interrupted them, and they left me for dead. I was in a coma for a month, and when I came out, I was in Black territory and no one knew who I was.”
She inhaled, as if trying to keep from crying. Her body tensed.
“When I told them my name, the medical facility threw me out into the streets. I lived there for months, slowly integrating into Black society. I found Dime in a shelter. They wanted to use him to do more neural transport. They made fun of him. You know that saying about “a penny for your thoughts”?
“Yes.” Mark pulled her over to face him, even though the darkness kept her in the shadows.
“Well, they used to joke about how Dime’s thoughts were worth at least nine cents more, hence his name. Nice folks. I hope they all die painful, awful deaths,” Mayflower finished, her voice squeaky.
“Like the Dostens?” Mark inquired casually, grinning in the darkness. She may not be an assassin, but he wouldn’t want to piss her off any time soon. Feisty as hell. He liked that in his women.
Mayflower kicked him. Hard. He yelped.
“I found a job as an exotic dancer to support us,” she continued, flopping back on her side, apparently satisfied with her direct hit on his shin. “Chico spotted me. He liked me. All I had to do was fuck him on request and distract his clients du
ring their business deals with my act. In return, he let me keep Dime with me. I knew it wouldn’t last forever, so when Chilly came along, I made arrangements. Happy now?”
Mark wrapped his arm around her waist and invited himself closer. He didn’t like the image of Chico fucking Mayflower drifting through his mind. A pang of jealousy shot through him, and his arm tightened around her protectively.
“You’re not telling me something, Mayflower. I need to know the truth. All of it.”
She lay very still, barely breathing. Mark waited. She tangled her fingers in his and squeezed, as if their connection somehow gave her strength. Whatever she wanted to say didn’t come without great effort.
“My son’s name is Michael. I was five months pregnant when the synthbots attacked me. I had the nursery nearly finished. He didn’t survive the attack. You know what it’s like to lose a son, don’t you, Mark?”
He held Mayflower in a death grip, her presence the only thing keeping him from tearing the tent apart as he relived the madness that started at Thermopoly. She let him, sharing in misery deeper than any mortal could comprehend.
For once in his life, Mark didn’t know what to do. No tears flowed, but the grief was astounding. For lack of any other promising course of action—the other options being curl up in a ball and die or go kill something—he gave in and let Mayflower take over.
Chapter Eleven
Mayflower took control. She’d never been in control of anything her whole life, but now she controlled Mark’s pleasure. His fate lay in her hands. Mayflower decided to free him the best way she knew how.
The cold air drifted over them as she disturbed their covering on her way down his body. She kissed his nipples, flicking them with her tongue, and he flinched. A beam of moonlight glimmered through the top of the tent, right across his face. His gorgeous eyes closed, and the pain in his expression renewed her courage. She’d change his agony to joy, or die trying.
She continued, massaging Mark’s taunt muscles as she progressed. She neared his cock, the musky scent of his desire intoxicating her, and lingered there. She licked his balls gently with slow, even strokes until he spread his legs to give her better access. His groans egged her on.
She fondled his cock and he grew in her hand, a droplet of moisture a sure sign of his need. She kissed the head of his cock, licking the salty come from his wet slit. He grabbed her hair in his hands and shifted his body. He was hers now. All hers.
He swelled, but Mayflower’s concern he might be too big for her mouth soon dissipated. She drew him in, her teeth scraping the sensitive underside of the head of his bulging cock. He cried her name and thrust, trying to fuck her mouth.
She’d have none of it. Next time, he’d get the chance, but tonight she needed to show him she possessed the skills to please him. He should be able to depend on her for that, if anything.
She grasped the base of his engorged cock firmly and lifted her head up and down. She stopped and sucked him hard, and more come dripped down her throat. He neared release.
Mayflower crawled up his body and straddled him, their covering falling to one side. She maneuvered the tip of his stiff prick to her soft, wet folds and rubbed it back and forth before settling it on her clit and wiggling. He moaned and grabbed her hips.
His breathing became ragged, and she impaled herself on his rigid cock, accepting him to the base. She rode him hard, tilting her hips back and forth rapidly, feeling him grow inside her, ready to explode. He begged for mercy.
She allowed none.
“Give me everything, Mark,” she said, demanding his acquiescence with her hips. He bucked into her, wanting more and more, and she obliged.
He yelled Aphrodite’s name again when he came, his seed overflowing between them as they milked his orgasm. Mayflower placed her finger on her clit, and a moment later, ripples of bliss captured her and carried her into momentary oblivion, where she stayed until he shuddered beneath her.
He wept.
She reached into the darkness, searching for his face, feeling for his tears. When Mayflower found the wetness trickling down his cheeks, she leaned forward, hoisting herself up, and kissed it. The more she kissed his tears away, the more flowed. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.
“I didn’t want to leave Markus with Niobe. That’s the only reason I didn’t want to leave for Thermopoly that day. I felt something bad in the air, something wicked, but a Spartan soldier doesn’t question. He fights.”
Mark’s choked out more words, his chest heaving. He tried to stem the flow with his thumb and forefinger, but his tears flowed on.
“Niobe hated Markus. She’d borne him, but like Hera hated Hephaestus, she despised his existence. His crippled leg would have straightened itself out eventually. I’d had the same problem as a lad and told her so. She still hated him, hated imperfection. Hated anyone might attribute him to her as a mistake.”
The sadness in Mark’s voice changed to unadulterated anger.
“Niobe knew if she hurt him, I’d never let her go unpunished. She took a lover and bribed him to find a way to get rid of me. One way or another, I wasn’t supposed to come home from Thermopoly alive.”
Mayflower’s blood ran cold. She understood how it felt to be betrayed, even if the spouse didn’t realize he’d done it. It still hurt. Mark’s pain, all these years, so unbearable…
“Her lover, Tangelis, wanted to put me in immortal hell. It wasn’t good enough we’d all been sent on a suicide mission. He hired a man infected with the vampirism virus to change me when I fell in battle. There’d be no glorious death for me. No ‘on my shield or with it.’ I became the walking dead. He sentenced me to hell.”
His voice trailed off as he if wandered back in time. Mayflower understood now. She’d read her history. A Spartan soldier trained for no other purpose than to die for his city-state. Denying him such a death reeked of pure evil.
“Niobe murdered Markus the minute she got word of my ‘death.’ I walked in my home and kissed my stunned wife, who tried to convince me no blood stained her hands. I almost believed her, but Tangelis ran in to warn her just I thought to re-sheath my sword. I ran her through while holding her in my arms, then slammed her into him and skewered both of them into the wall. I walked out and never returned.”
His voice held such a dangerous edge, Mayflower shivered. She started to say something, but thought better of it and clamped her mouth shut.
“I can only imagine what you must think of me, Mayflower,” he said, his voice dull, lifeless.
“I think I’m glad you didn’t get that pissed at me, especially around the pleasure synth box. Ouch.”
Hell, she’d have done the same thing if her situation had been different, if Jeffrey had known she still lived and married her sister anyway. Mark’s wife murdered his son and wanted him dead. He was out of his mind with grief. Shit. Talk about torturing yourself.
“Mark, I think you can claim extenuating circumstances,” Mayflower comforted, and he finally relaxed, just a little. She’d give him some time. She’d only had a few years of being weighed down with her grief and guilt. He’d had twenty centuries.
She adjusted his head next to her breasts and snuggled up to him. He needed to rest and so did she. Tomorrow they’d go to Chico’s club and find whatever it was everyone was willing to kill for. Then, if they made it out alive, they’d take on the rest of the world.
Together.
* * * *
Sunlight flirted with Mark, flashing in his eyes through the hole in the top of the tent and waking him from one of the most sound slumbers he’d experienced in years. Not so groggy he didn’t remember last night, he reached for his beautiful bedmate.
She’d disappeared.
Relief replaced the momentary fear he experienced. They were at the Camp, safe for now. He rolled off the bedding and got to his feet, pulling on the worn-out jeans and T-shirt the residents scrounged up for him, along with some fairly new sneakers.
After splashin
g some water on his face, he stepped into the sunlight and squinted. His body told him it was about eight o’clock in the morning, and his stomach told him he’d better feed it soon. He headed toward the Camp’s food tent to get some toast or whatever they had available, making a mental note to transfer his life funds to Dix in case he didn’t make it back from Chico’s club.
He came upon the food tent, and the most beautiful sight greeted him. Mayflower and Hannah sat with Dime, who fed himself, though not too well, from a plate of eggs. The sun danced off Mayflower’s shiny black hair, giving her an aura. Very appealing. His cock rose.
Mark sat down quickly, and Mayflower smiled at him. Her black lipstick and eyeliner gone, she looked like any other beautiful woman sitting at a sidewalk café in Paris or Rome. Beautiful. Sensual. His.
Something in his stomach flip-flopped, but before he considered it further, Dix wheeled up behind him and slapped him on the back. Selena sat eggs in front of him, and situated herself in Dix’s lap, sharing a piece of toast with him as they talked.
“So you two are going to Chico’s club, are you?” Dix asked nonchalantly. “Think you might need some help with that.”
The second part was more of a statement than a question.
“I’m going. Mayflower’s not. She’s staying here, where it’s safe,” Mark announced, and Mayflower’s smile faded.
Uh-oh.
“I am going,” she said, anger flashing in her pretty violet eyes.
“You don’t need to go. You have no more idea what we’re looking for than I do.”
“But, I—” Mayflower sputtered. “I want to go. You said people’s lives depended on it.”
Mark and Dix exchanged glances. Dix spoke first.
“They do, but I’m sending a contingent with Mark. Three good men and a woman. All good soldiers. All volunteers.”
Mayflower’s face turned three shades of red. She hadn’t felt this helpless in, oh, at least eight hours. She hated being helpless. She’d psyched herself up to go, to possibly die with Mark, which seemed kind of romantic to her way of thinking, and now they blew her off.