Night Hunter

by Vonna Harper

  “Do you remember how we met?” she asked. Her left hand was only inches from his knees. The right held his knife and remained out of reach. “What’s happened between us?”

  A vague image of having seen her naked nagged at him. Even stronger was the sense that he’d had need of her and had capitalized on her lustfulness in order to achieve his goals. He wished he could remember how he’d accomplished that.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. He hoped the question didn’t reveal too much about his uncertain state of mind.

  “Why? Because…” She raked her hand through her hair, then let it drop to her side. “Because you made me.”

  Another flash of memory struck, this one stronger and more vivid. He’d had sex with her. He was certain of that. She’d both resented the mating and had been hungry for it.

  “Were you here when I was wounded?”

  “No. If I had been, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. I, ah, I know you by two names, Laird and Thunder. What do you want me to call you?”

  Both names reminded him of well-loved songs. The first brought him closer to understanding who he’d always been while the other spoke of challenge, danger, and discovery. “You decide,” he told her.

  She frowned. “I never—Laird!” she said too emphatically. “That’s who you are.”

  Once, maybe, but no longer. Unwilling to share his insight with her, he turned his thoughts inward. As long as he didn’t move, he felt relatively clearheaded, but he doubted that would continue if he tried to stand. At the same time, he sensed that to stay here was dangerous. He rocked forward, his weight on his knees in preparation for getting to his feet. She must have guessed what he had in mind because she jumped up and positioned herself so he could cling to her if necessary.

  He resented her confidence in her body and strength, but decided not to test the difference between them. Returning to a reclining position, he waited for her to kneel again. She did so, glaring at him.

  The sense that he’d managed her earlier in ways that kept her off balance, aroused and angry at the same time, grew. Although he couldn’t say where the conviction came from, he knew he’d always had a certain power over women and had used it to his advantage. Something was different about his connection to this one, but he didn’t take the time to examine that.

  “Who is Laird?” he demanded. “Tell me about him.”

  “You—you’re him.”

  “I need to know who you believe he is.”

  Fury flashed in her eyes. She looked a breath away from striking him. Because he was in no condition to subdue her, he held out his hand, indicating he wanted her to place hers in it. For the first time, he noticed he was wearing a ring. He stared at it.

  “It’s mine,” she said softly. “At least it was before I gave it to you. This—” She spun her bracelet around on her wrist so he could see all of it, “—was inspired by your necklace. You came to my place. I showed you the jewelry I make and gave you that ring. I-I called you Laird. You responded.”

  Just like he was responding now. Not caring that the loose flap of leather he wore didn’t hide his growing erection, he reached out and boldly caught her right nipple between thumb and forefinger. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into him. A little of the fire in her eyes died to be replaced by a sheen of moisture.

  “When I do this, what do you feel?” he asked.

  “Don’t make me say it.”

  Ignoring her plea, he rubbed until the nipple grew hard. It didn’t take long.

  “It isn’t fair.” Her voice sounded muffled. “You shouldn’t—damn it!”

  The throbbing in his side faded. Strength was returning to him, but whether it was enough to allow him to fuck her, he couldn’t say. He tried to tell himself that getting at the truth of what today was about was more important, but until certain needs had been satisfied, until he’d stripped away her defenses and left her vulnerable, honest, and open—until he no longer felt alone—everything else would have to wait.

  “What shouldn’t I do?” he asked. If she’d wanted, she could have easily pulled free. Instead, she continued to lean into him with her neck arched as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs.

  “That.” She closed her fingers around his wrist.

  “You do not like it.”

  “You know I do.”

  Yes, he did, just as he had no doubt of what she wanted from him. What he needed from her.

  “I want you naked,” he said. Although his cock throbbed, he released her and half turned his back on her, forcing her to let go of his wrist.

  “Just—just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn you, Laird. Sometimes I think this is the only thing we have going. It’s a hell of a basis for a relationship. I want, damn it, I’d give anything for a little moonlight and roses from you. But do you even have a clue what I’m talking about?”

  Even as she cursed him, she began lifting her shirt over her head. Her breasts popped free. They were generous but not so large that they hung down. He dug deep into his mind, asking if he’d seen them before, but he couldn’t be sure—maybe because he had trouble thinking beyond his cock’s urgent demand.

  “I’m so confused when you do this to me,” she said. She started to fold her arms across her breasts, then stopped.

  “Then why do you?”

  “What choice do I have?” She laughed bitterly. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know you do.”

  He didn’t respond, only stared at her. His hands rested on his knees. Between them, his swollen cock waited.

  Mala swallowed and tried to take her eyes off the too-familiar shaft. This was hardly the first time he’d played his damnable game with her—if that’s what it was. And it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d lost contact with her body. It existed beyond her control, his plaything.

  And yet if fucking him meant getting him out of here and to a hospital and safety, it was worth it. Beneath that savage exterior was a man who understood what her craft meant to her, who laughed and loved sea breezes. Clinging to that excuse for what she was about to do, she put down the knife and scooted closer. She thought his hands twitched, but maybe she only imagined that his need equaled hers. He’d been silent for what seemed like a long, long time, and yet, much as she loved the sound of his voice, it was better this way.

  Or it would have been if ropes of sexual desire hadn’t wrapped around her.

  When her knees brushed his, she ran her hands up his thighs. Doing that threw her slightly off balance and forced her to lean forward. Now her breasts dangled, and her nipples felt like hot rocks. Hungry in a way no food could ever satisfy, she cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them toward him. Already, sweat slickened her palms. Maybe he smiled but maybe she only imagined his superior grin. He didn’t take her offering.

  “What do I have to do?” she demanded. Her lips felt both numb and over-sensitized. “Don’t you want me?”

  He remained silent and still. Gathering courage and clamping down on her anger at the same time, she looked him in the eye. His nostrils flared and his hands had become fists. His penis strained against the soft loincloth. But despite those cues, his eyes revealed confusion and doubt.

  Were the Seminole trying to take control of him?

  Fearful of what that meant to their safety, she slid even closer, forcing him to widen his stance so she fit between his legs. She wanted to throw her weight at him and force him back onto the ground, for once have the upper hand in this damnable battle of theirs, but didn’t dare risk injuring him further. Instead, she curled down upon herself with her butt sticking out until her mouth reached his cock. She considered taking him into her and giving him head he’d never recover from, but this moment was about more than satisfying him—much more.

  Her lips were swollen, much like his penis. Although she felt the strain along the back of her neck, she rested her hands on his thighs and stretched out to kiss the head she kn
ew intimately. He shuddered and sucked in hot air but that, she told herself, was involuntary and not an effort to escape her. She couldn’t see him clearly, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need sight.

  “I want this to be good,” she whispered. “Not just some roll in the hay, but great sex. Beyond sex and fucking. Lovemaking.”

  Again and again, slow and deliberate, she feathered his throbbing cock with light kisses. In the past—such as it was—she’d handled him roughly, He was, after all, a rough and rugged man. But for reasons she didn’t dare explore, she no longer thought of him that way. Fucking was for strangers who wanted nothing more than the proverbial roll in the hay.

  Making love was different. Deeper.

  His cock dripped. She lapped at the moisture and drew it into her mouth, tasted it and him. She no longer felt the strain in her neck. How could she with her body whirring and hot? Wet heat pooled around the lips of her cunt, and everything down there felt swollen. She pressed her legs together, not to try to kill the fire but, damn it, she still wore clothes.

  Thinking maybe she could distract herself from the building pressure, she renewed her efforts. After repositioning herself, she turned her attention to his scrotum. She closed her lips over her teeth and nipped at whatever loose flesh she could reach. He again sucked in a breath and shoved his fingers through her hair. She felt a tug, but if he was trying to get her to stop, he’d have to do better than that.

  Her rump still stuck up in the air. Despite the hated fabric, she felt—or imagined she did—a hot breeze dance along her butt cheeks. So much for dismissing her own needs!

  Resigned to dealing with sexual frustration, she moistened her tongue before running it over and around his balls. They contracted up into him, prompting her to chuckle. His grip on her hair tightened. She welcomed the pain.

  Unexpectedly, her shoulder muscles protested the awkward position she’d put them in, and she fell forward. If his thighs hadn’t been there, she would have landed on her nose on the ground. As it was, she could barely breathe with said nose smashed against his solid muscle.

  Instead of helping her straighten, he slid his hands inside the back of her waistband and clamped his fingers around her rump. The absurdity of what they were doing made her laugh. At least she did until her inability to draw a full breath forced her to turn her head to the side. The top of her head pressed against his belly, and his cock grazed her cheek.

  She stuck out her tongue and licked. He “rewarded” her by pressing his fingertips into her rump and dimpling it. Her pussy grew hotter, wetter, even more swollen. She spread her legs as far apart as possible and entertained the fantasy of anal sex.

  Instead of taking advantage of her unspoken invitation, he pulled his hands out from inside her shorts. Feeling abandoned, starving for more, she tried to sit up. Before she could pull it off, he grabbed her shoulders and forced her face back down to his crotch.

  So much for lovemaking!

  A heartbeat later, she changed her mind. She offered no resistance when he unbuttoned her shorts and slipped them down over her butt. Now her cheeks were truly waving in the wind. He reached over and around and down her ass and touched—just barely touched—her swollen labial lips. Her passage overflowed, and moisture dribbled from her. Already a climax thrummed, demanded, promised.

  When he left off stimulating her there and ran his fingers over her anus, she did the only thing she was capable of. Eyes squeezed shut against the real world, she opened her mouth around his cock and drew him as far as possible inside her.

  She couldn’t think clearly, wasn’t certain she was pleasuring him in the way he deserved. His forefinger pressed against her anus, wiggled and probed. Both fighting and encouraging her own climax, she sucked. He was big, so big! How could she—how could she not do all she could to provide his cock with a home?

  What—what had she promised? Lovemaking, more than just sex.

  But this—God, it felt good!

  The world behind her eyelids became midnight. Even as one hand continued to test the entrance to her butt hole, Laird used his other hand to slide two fingers past her labial lips and into her throbbing opening. She felt herself empty out and engorge at the same time, relaxed her pussy and welcomed him in, drenched him with her fluids. And then, and then—yes!—a fingertip kissed her clit. A deep shudder rammed through her. Nearly there. Almost—

  Barely conscious, she pressed her own fingers against Laird’s groin, then switched to a rubbing motion. His cock jerked inside her mouth. She sucked until she felt his wet, sticky head against the back of her throat.

  Together. We’ll get off together.

  Oh my—his fingers in me. Finding the switch. Playing with it. Turning it on. My mouth housing his cock. Together! Damn, damn, together!

  No!

  Yanked back from the brink, Mala was slow to comprehend that Laird had shoved her away. His cock slipped noisily out of her.

  Panting, she braced her hands on his thighs but couldn’t yet summon the strength and presence of mind to sit up. Her shorts, still tangled around her knees, felt like bonds.

  A man spoke. In Seminole.

  Laird answered.

  Shaking and breathless, she glanced over her shoulder.

  The old man from her dream—the one Laird called Osceola—stood looking down at them. He’d folded his hands over his slightly sunken chest. His eyes blazed. He spoke softly, all but ignoring her. Laird listened intently and occasionally nodded. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted to have him tell her everything was all right, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Laird,” she managed around the constriction in her throat. “What does he want?”

  Giving no indication that he’d heard, Laird stood. He clamped his hand over his side, letting her know what that had cost him. She grabbed his ankle, then lifted herself enough to press her cheek against his hard leg.

  “Laird, don’t forget me. Please.”

  With no sign that he was the least bit embarrassed about how Osceola had found them, Laird repositioned his loincloth so it covered him before walking over to Osceola and lowering his head. The chief pressed his palm against Laird’s forehead, then wrapped his loose-skinned arms around Laird’s shoulders and pulled him against him.

  Mala sobbed low in her throat. Her body still screamed from unrelieved sexual tension. It was all she could do to not to jam her fingers up inside her cunt and satisfy herself. But if she did, the risk of losing Laird forever would become even greater.

  Only maybe Laird Jaeger was dead.

  Replaced by Thunder.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The men who shot you are scouts. They did not stay to hunt you down because they want to return to the others and guide them to the village.”

  With awful clarity, Mala clung to what the sick-looking Seminole chief was telling Laird—Thunder. Why she could suddenly understand him didn’t matter.

  “How many are there of our enemy?” Thunder asked. He stood taller than he had a moment ago and seemed to have forgotten his wound.

  “Hundreds. Maybe a thousand.”

  Mala shuddered. She believed, fully, what Thunder had told her about the small village with no more than twenty warriors. What would happen to those women, children, and the elderly if those twenty warriors were killed or captured?

  “A thousand.” Thunder’s voice carried no hint of fear. “They will travel together, right?”

  Osceola nodded. “It is their way. Them and their horses.”

  Mala pulled up her shorts and fastened them. She glanced around for her shirt. Not spotting it, she promptly forgot about it. What did naked breasts matter when a determined and well-armed army was coming for the Indian fugitives?

  Thunder nodded, indicating he heard the chief’s every word. “That many men and animals cannot move silently. Before they reach us, we will know. And if I stay near them as they travel, spy—”

  “Thunder!” she interrupted. She hurried over to him bu
t didn’t try to touch him. “They already shot you once.”

  He threw a glance her way before returning his attention to Osceola. “It will not happen again.”

  She might have called him boastful if it hadn’t been for the dark, powerful determination in his eyes. Although she should care about nothing except making sure he stayed alive, she couldn’t keep her eyes off Osceola. He was taller than she’d expected. The paintings she’d seen of him hadn’t done him justice. His mouth was soft, almost feminine, but his square, strong jaw downplayed that as did his piercing black eyes. His nose was long and straight, his large ears barely covered by long, thick gray hair. Unlike the nearly naked Thunder, he was dressed in a long sleeved shirt, a loose, knee-length skirt and leather leggings. He wore a necklace made from three large turtle shells and carried a rifle. Right now he was using the rifle to lean against. His face looked flushed and his eyes were red-rimmed, probably from a fever. No wonder he was asking Thunder to take charge.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t remain silent. “He’s wounded,” she told the chief. “I know you’re sick, but he’s no better.”

  Osceola gave her naked breasts the briefest glance before locking his gaze on her. “Thunder’s wound is nothing. He will ignore it.”

  “How do you—”

  “Mala, don’t!”

  Stung by her lover’s warning, she clamped her hand over her mouth. He looked so damn magnificent! Proud, determined, strong despite the blood loss.

  “I must do this,” he went on almost softly. “Surely you understand.”

  No, I don’t! I never will! Do you think—I’m afraid for you. Don’t you understand that?

  “I can no longer lead,” Osceola said. “Thunder’s time has come.”

  “We—my people and I—are not animals waiting to be hunted down,” Thunder continued. “The Everglades will shelter us. We will survive.”

  What about me?

  “His spirit is strong,” Osceola went on. “Eagle and panther give him their courage.”

  “I embrace their courage.” Thunder nodded at Osceola. “I will make it mine.”