by Nya Rayne
“What else do you want me to do?” One eyebrow arched and the corners of his lips quirked into a half smile.
“Show-off,” she muttered under her breath. This man who was trying to make her believe in aberrant things was wholly unnatural and the whole situation scared the living shit out of her. “I have to get out of here.” Stormy pushed to her feet. Fury reached for her so fast, she couldn’t react until she found herself straddling his hips, facing him, her breasts flush against his chest.
He relaxed, his large hand gripping her hips, pulling her closer. “Why is your first inclination always to run?”
“My—my—It’s not.” Stormy tried to look away from the turbulence building in his eyes, but found it impossible. “I don’t run.” His length swelled beneath her. He couldn’t want her again. For the love of the heavens, he’d just had her. She tried to push back away from him, but he held her close.
“Liar,” he whispered, leaning forward. Fury caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a slight tug that set off bolts of electricity within her. She pretended to push him away, even as she pressed herself against him.
“St—stop.” His hands slid up over her rib cage and came to rest near her heaving breast. “Once was enough, Fury. Please,” she begged. Her body would break under his ministrations, she was certain of it.
His head dipped and he caught her pert nipple between his teeth. He sucked it, sucking it into his mouth as his hands roamed lower to her ass. Stormy’s head fell back. She arched into him, her hands disappearing into the roots of his damp hair.
“Fury, please, I can’t. We can’t. Not again.” She was made of ice and he was the hottest flame born of the deepest bowels of Hell.
The slightest touch of his hand, the slowest stroke of his tongue, and a glance in her direction was capable of causing a polar meltdown. The man was her kryptonite with his dastardly good looks, his supernatural powers, and eyes that tested the heavens. If she didn’t get away from him, he would be the end of her.
She reveled in his touch. It will probably be a sweet death, but it will be a death just the same.
Fury laid her back so her head was dipping into the warm water as he leaned over her. His teeth nibbling, his tongue lavishing, his lips suckling their way down between her mounds to her stomach and then to her navel. He growled low, his hands clenching her hips pulling her back to him.
“I know you want me, Ambrosia. I can smell it. I can see it in the way you look at me, and the way you touch me.”
She tried to form the words to refute his claim, but found herself pulling his head down closer to her body instead.
“Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.” His hand found her nest, parted her lower lips, and began a lazy assault on her clit.
“Jesus,” she breathed, clutching him to her as every nerve of her body came to life in jolts of shocking and astounding currents. Jolts that brought up sounds from the back of her throat that she didn’t believe were coming from her.
“I broke bread with him on a few occasions, but he’s not here right now. Tell me you want me, love. Tell me how bad you want me deep inside you, stretching you, filling you and making you whole. Tell me.”
He inserted one finger into her. Her canal clamped down around it, tried to pull him in deeper. “Fury, please. I—I can’t take this.” She was on fire, charring from the inside out with no savior in sight. She didn’t want this, she didn’t, but a part of her—the needy, desperate part—needed this in the same manner sharks needed to keep swimming to survive. “Damn you,” she seethed, fisting her hands in his hair and yanking his face up to hers.
Stormy covered his mouth with hers. She wanted to taste him, drink him in, and engrain him in every part of her body for all eternity. Their tongues fought for dominance, danced within each other’s mouths in a twisted tango, drinking in Aphrodite’s sweet nectar. Getting away from him was placed on the back burner, and the heat building in her abdomen became paramount.
“Fuck me, Ambrosia. I want you to release on me every pain, every ache, and every emotion you’ve kept buried. Let me know you as no one else ever will.”
She tried to respond, but her mind was so lost in a haze of euphoria and lust, that nothing made sense except Fury. He lifted and lowered her, impaling her. Her canal stretched as his cock filled her, sending her soul searching outside of her body for something—anything—that would tether her to this world.
“Fury,” she whispered, as he lifted her slowly only to bring her back down on him.
He leaned in until they were touching nose to nose and forehead to forehead. Lightning struck in his eyes, and thunder rolled from his body to hers as he said it. “Fuck…me.”
“I can’t. I don’t know how.” She raked her nails down his back as he impaled her once more, burying himself deep within her. Her clit thumped, liquid heat trickled down his shaft and trailed down her thigh. Only then did she realize they were no longer in the bathtub. He was sitting on the closed rim of the toilet, she straddling his hips.
As she stared into his eyes, her hips rocked to and fro against him. She rose and she fell, undulated and gyrated, each thrust of her hips more determined, and more forceful. She drove him deeper and deeper into her, riding him as if he were Hell’s stallion in need of breaking.
Stormy gave herself over to Bes, the god of sexual pleasure. He invaded her body and threw her into a haze born of lust and insatiability. She buried her fingers in the roots of Fury’s head and yanked back as she rose up over him, her lips pressed against his, devouring his tongue as she rode him. Her need built and spun, twisted and writhed within her as the end drew closer.
It was building, climbing steadily, spreading outward into her arms, down her legs, and into her toes, curling them. Every nerve in her body was alive. There were a thousand butterflies covering her, tickling her skin. Her pussy clenched and released, milking his cock, trying to absorb him. She rocked her hips back once, and then twice, each stroke deeper, holding and devouring.
The world behind her closed eyelids exploded in an array of colors. Crying out to the heavens, she held onto his shoulders and tried not to lose herself in emotions and ideas she didn’t want to entertain, like staying with him and wanting this to be more than sex.
Fury moved, lifting and spinning her so her hands were pressed against the tan and dark brown marble bathroom sink, their reflection peering back at them from the vanity mirror. Before she could think to ask what was happening, he had lifted her ass to him and reentered her. She tried to stifle the cry of exquisite pain that rushed through her, but it was of no use.
With hazed eyes, he buried himself deep within her as he trailed his fingers down her lower back. Sweat beaded on his brow, ran the length of his neck to his chest muscles, and raced down his hairless chiseled stomach. His chest heaved, his muscles twitched, and his face was taut with desire. The sight of him made Stormy feel wanted, sexy, and alive.
He made her feel these things—her kidnapper, her captor.
Fury leaned over her, his hips moving against her ass, pushing his cock deeper and deeper, burying himself to the hilt. He watched her reflection watching him as he whispered in her ear, “See me, Ambrosia. See me for who I am to you. Know me like no other will ever know me, and allow me to know you the same way.”
As she stared back at him, fighting to breathe, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. For the first time in her life, and with this strange being, she’d felt things in both body and mind that she’d never have imagined possible. If he were anyone else would it be the same? Would she feel the same tumultuous emotions?
He reared back and pistoned forward, pulling her hips back to him again and again, his eyes trained on her reflection as she gnawed on her lower lip, gripped the counter and tried to outlast his unmerciful descent on her weak and quaking body.
Fury bent over her as he continued pumping into her with unbridled determination. “All that I am is for you, Ambrosia.” He retreated from her, onl
y to piston forward once more. “I was created for this…for you. To love you and protect you.” His hands found her breasts as his hips surged forward, burying his shaft deeper into her, intent on tearing away her doubt, her need to run. “You and I, Ambrosia, we are inevitable.”
The first pulse came, and then another, and a third…
Stormy lifted her hips higher, giving him better access. He pushed forward while pulling her back to meet him once, twice, three times before everything he was spilled into her. The only thing left for her to do was to join him in his sea, now their sea, of ecstasy.
Chapter Eleven
Fury kissed his way up her spine to the back of her neck, and then turned her to face him. “There’s another power I have that I haven’t told you about.” He kissed each of her eyelids, lifted her, and placed her back in the bath.
Still warm, she noticed. Stormy reluctantly released him. “What is it?”
He squatted down beside the tub, scooped up a few hands of water, and let it trickle between his fingers and onto her. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling.
“I can read minds.”
Her eyes snapped open, the euphoric haze scattered. “You what?” The jerk had the audacity to smile. “You. Can do. What?”
“Anubi have the ability to read the minds of all humans as well as most animals. We can also speak to one another mind-to-mind—telepathically, as you would say.” She could only stare at him as he continued. “I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I know what you’re up to, and if you think for one second I’m letting you leave me, you’re out of that beautiful little mind of yours.” He ran his fingers over her brow, down her cheek, and leaned in to kiss her parted lips. “I also love that when you think of me, you equate your pussy to the Baltic Sea.”
Stormy glared back at him. He can’t be serious. He—He—He just can’t be. Wait, is that how he knew my name when I know for a fact I didn’t tell him? It has to be. That’s how he knew I was the perfect victim. She shoved at his chest. “Get away from me.”
“Ambrosia, it’s not what you think.”
“Of course not, because you know exactly what the hell I’m thinking, don’t you?”
“Ambrosia? I’m not—I didn’t—”
“Damn it, don’t call me that!” Stormy pushed to the opposite end of the tub away from him. “You were playing me from the very beginning.” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. “Y-You used me. You son of a bitch.”
“Used you for what?” he growled.
“For sex!” She swiped at the hair stuck to the sides of her face.
“For sex? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He pushed away from the tub and stood to his feet. “The last thing I needed from you was sex. Matter of fact, I was doing pretty well in that area before you literally threw yourself at me. So, no, Ambrosia, I don’t need you for that.”
Stormy scoffed. “He says, after he takes what he wants.” There was no need to wait for him to respond, so she pushed on. “You’re a liar and a pervert!” She grabbed at the water as if it were solid. “Get out! Get out and leave me alone!”
He shook his head, breathed in and out a few times and said, his voice dropping a few octaves, “Love?”
“Don’t you dare call me that, you jackass! Don’t you ever call me that again! You took advantage of me! You used me! I wanted to believe you! I wanted to—Get out! I hate you! I hate you. Just get out, leave me alone!”
His face wavered between emotions she couldn’t understand and didn’t care to. He betrayed me. He’s exactly—if not worse than—what I accused him of being. He’s a manipulative, conniving son of a bitch. Why am I even upset? He’s nothing to me. He means nothing to me. She turned away from him as the first tears came to her eyes. Stormy wiped them away. He’s nothing, and he’s damn sure not worth crying over. He’s a kidnapper and a seducer, that’s it. Another tear fell, and she rubbed at it fitfully. I almost fell for it. All of his lies. I should have known better.
We’re inevitable, his words whispered against her heart as the bathroom door closed behind him.
Stormy grasped the nearest candle and hurled it at the door. “Liar!” she screamed, putting every ounce of rage she felt into that one little word. “Liar! Liar! Liar!”
Fury leapt down the stairs without a backwards glance. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Hell, he’d been trying to give her the privacy she deserved and the time to come to him freely, as only a true chosen could. He never expected her to take the truth quite like this, though.
The more he thought about it, he could see how she would assume such things. Still, what the hell was he supposed to do? Blurt it out the moment he met her that he could read minds? Chances were, had he done so, she still wouldn’t have believed him, because she was so damn adamant all of this—him, her, them—were all fantastic lies.
He stepped into the kitchen, checked the shrimp and scallop primavera he’d prepared to serve over a bed of fettuccini for Stormy, and tried not to listen to her soft sobbing. Damn his heightened hearing.
In his opinion she had no reason to be acting the way she was. He hadn’t lied to her, and he damn sure hadn’t used her. If anything, he should be the one upset at her sexy, hot-tempered ass. She stormed into his damn life and acted like everything was supposed to just stop. Like he was supposed to cater to her. He scoffed, turned away from the food and crossed to the front door. The moment he stepped outside, Fury sent a call out to Brutus and Sodona to meet him in the grove, and silently cursed up at the overcast sky. How the hell was he supposed to get her to come fully into the Anubi way when she thought everything he said was a lie?
“This is not good. Not good at all,” he murmured.
He could fight a horde of those despicable Yazaron and win, but he’d been chased out of his own bathroom—and now his own home—by a woman half his size.
This wasn’t good at all. Something had to give.
Fury didn’t doubt he would be the something. After all, within a day’s time, she’d already made him certain of two things: any reservations he had about not wanting to be with her were bullshit; and wherever she was, it was where he wanted to be.
Arms out at his sides, he called up an image of a large black jackal. His bones elongated, stretched, and rippled beneath his skin. His face lengthened and narrowed, his eyes changing from gray to golden amber. Midnight black hair sprouted until it covered his entire body from head to toe. His fingernails grew, curved, and hardened, the nail beds disappearing altogether.
Fury fell forward onto all fours, threw his head back, and howled his frustrations into the sky. With a glance back at his home, he sent a call out for Kano and Apache, Brutus and Sodona’s eldest pups, to come protect what was his. That would leave Navajo, the youngest of the three, to watch the perimeter.
He shot forward with the speed of a bullet, determined to outrun the pain—her pain—and the smell of her tears. I’ll deal with her and her accusations later. For now, the afternoon belonged to him, Brutus, and Sodona. And God help anyone or any foe that crossed their path.
Chapter Twelve
Stormy jerked her arm away from Fury and spun on her heels, her body radiating anger the likes of which Fury was all too familiar with. “I told you to never touch me again, didn’t I?” Her hands gripped her hips so tightly, her nail plates were white. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have no right to treat me like this.”
“I’m your chosen mate.”
“You’re my chosen nothing.”
“You wish,” Fury spat pathetically, and wished he had a stronger comeback. She rolled her eyes and glared up and down the hallway as he continued, “A man only has so much patience, love. And you’re testing every ounce of mine.”
“Go to hell,” she bit out, her green eyes appearing like glistening jewels against the dimness of his brother’s foyer.
Fury cursed under his breath and covered the distance between them. Without giving her time to react, he
picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. “I don’t have time to play these childish games with you.”
He had been racing through the forest, bounding over downed limbs and dead trees with Brutus at his right flank and Sodona at his left, when the news that Terroar had come out of hiding had reached him.
Stormy pounded on his back, kicked her legs out, and undulated against his shoulder. “Put me down, you asshole!”
It’s wasn’t because of her pleading that he complied; it was more because Crul and Tempest were in some part of the house listening to every word and getting a good laugh at his expense. He took a few deep breaths and took hold of her wrist. “Stop this nonsense. Whatever problem you have with me can be dealt with when we leave here.”
“The only thing that needs to be dealt with is cutting that lying tongue of yours out.” She stepped so close to him, he could smell her sweet breath and feel heat rolling off her body. She was so damn beautiful it was devastating. “Let me go.” Her jaw clenched and her top lip twitched in anger.
He tightened his hold on her wrist and pulled her closer as he leaned down, the edge of his nose brushing hers. “Over my cremated body.” His cock swelled against his inner thigh. I’ve never wanted a woman so much in my life, he admitted silently.
“Be careful what you ask for,” she replied with a mischievous grin that didn’t reach her eyes.
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to find yourself across my knee, bare ass up.” Fury turned away, because if he didn’t, he was going to fuck her right there in the hallway and not give a good goddamn who was watching or listening. He pushed through the heavy oak door with one hand, his other pulling Stormy behind him.
He turned his attention back to the problems at hand: Hatrid and Terroar.
“What the hell were you doing in the city?” Fury bellowed as he stormed up to the foot of the bed Hatrid was stretched out on.
For a man who had nearly lost his right arm, he didn’t look all that bad. He had a few scratches and bruises that were already healing but, other than the issue with his arm, he seemed to have fared pretty well.