by Lacey Savage
And then she was soaring, lifted in powerful hands, cradled between hard bodies as she moved up and down both cocks. Her pussy and ass felt stretched to capacity. It should have been painful, but it was erotic and wonderful. Torrents of pleasure cascaded down her skin, nudging every nerve ending to full awareness.
She felt Trevor and Connor's bodies slam against hers with each thrust. Their grunts and moans filled the small room and she reveled in the sounds of passion, sounds she never thought she'd hear inside her tiny apartment.
Isy's heart fluttered. She belonged here, sheltered between two powerful men. These two men. My men.
Because in that instant, they were hers. And she was theirs.
For as long as they wanted her. Forever. Please. God. Forever.
Hands cupped her breasts, her buttocks, slid over her ribcage. They trapped her and held her close in the most delicious manner imaginable. She closed her eyes and gave in to the bliss streaming through her veins. The flames they'd fanned inside her soared into a blazing fire that warmed her core. When she felt the wave of raw sensation creeping up through her cunt and ass, she clung fiercely to Trevor's shoulders and let her head fall back against Connor's chest.
A connection formed. Tentative at first, but Isy swore she could feel it binding them. Ethereal and magical, so fragile it could tear if her orgasm made her tremble the slightest bit, it curled around all three of their bodies and united them in a way that even their physical coupling couldn't match.
Isy opened her mouth to say something, to ask the men if they could feel it, too. But Trevor misunderstood and crushed his lips against hers, and the moment his tongue touched hers, she shattered.
A primal, feral orgasm simmered and flared deep inside her. Every muscle in Isy's body, except those in her pussy and deep in her ass, tensed and froze. Her inner walls pulsed frantically, milking the two cocks, setting off the men's climaxes like a well-orchestrated ripple effect.
Both Connor and Trevor stilled as well when they came, their hoarse grunts music to Isy's ears. She drank in their pleasure, memorizing the harmony of their voices as they sang their bliss. This much cum had never drenched her inner core before. She'd forgotten what it felt like, but she was certain welcoming hot spurts of molten pleasure deep into her body had never felt this good.
The buzzing euphoria clenching her belly calmed and eased as her powerful orgasm gave one last determined surge. The strange sensations she'd been feeling drained away, leaving her spent and fully satiated.
Despite the ache in her pussy and ass, she refused to move. Instead, she squeezed her inner muscles to signal she wasn't letting either man go. Not now. Maybe not ever, if she had her way.
They sheltered her, their strong, protective bodies soothing her fears and calming her doubts. She wanted to keep her men right where they were for all eternity, safely hidden in her sanctuary, away from the accusations and the fury that would no doubt follow in the morning.
As always, they seemed to know just what she needed.
No one moved. No one spoke. And Isy—strong, independent Isy, who thought she knew so well what the world demanded of her and had been only too glad to give it—allowed herself to feel loved.
Hours later, she awoke to sunbeams playing across her face, warming her skin. Through a haze of sleep and satiation, she wondered when she'd passed out and how she'd ended up sprawled on her mattress with a blanket lovingly draped around her naked body.
Something's wrong.
Her eyelids popped open, she gasped and heaved herself into a sitting position all at the same time.
It took Isy all of two seconds to realize her men were gone. It took her slightly longer to understand they were never coming back.
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CHAPTER 8
"Preliminary test results are inconclusive, doctor."
"Damn. Cancel whatever plans you've made for the night. We'll be here a while."
"Figures. Some crone decides to fuck half of New York and I have to suffer."
"Hey, Michaels, we're all in pain here, all right? You think I don't have better things to do than poke and prod this woman all night?"
"I don't know, doc, she's got nice tits. Maybe this won't be so bad."
Pain shafted through Isy's womb, knifing into her chest cavity. She heaved a ragged breath through the plastic tube attached to the bottom half of her face. Panic surged, slammed inside her head.
She tried to move, but couldn't. Plastic restraints cut into her arms, her legs, her chest. She'd been strapped down to a bed. Her legs were in stirrups, splayed obscenely. A bright light bore into her eyes when she tried to squint them open.
"She's awake, doc."
The harsh male voice was closer now. To her right? Behind her? Where was the other one?
Someone's hand squeezed her breast.
A burst of pure, icy fear pierced the confusion clouding Isy's head. Her thoughts hurtled back to that morning. Or had it been yesterday? She couldn't remember. She'd been in bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, breathing in the twin scents of male desire, when the door burst open.
City officials had flanked Vicki in the doorway. Isy's former assistant had only to point. Immediately, two men stormed into the room and yanked Isy up by her arms before escorting her outside without even giving her time to dress. As they shoved her into the back of a van marked with the green Medical Board logo, Isy struggled to drown out Vicki's screeching shouts. Even pressing her hands to her ears had been of no use. The foul names Vicki had spat at her kept repeating like an old, broken record.
Bitch. Crone. Shrew. Harpy. Dirt.
She'd clung to that last one, remembering Connor's play. He'd transformed dirty love from something sinful and obscene into a beautiful act. And then he'd not only shown her how wonderful such a relationship could be, he'd proven it to her, too.
He and Trevor. The memories of their faces, their hands, their voices, lingered in Isy's thoughts. Surely they hadn't meant for this to happen. They wouldn't have left her here to be tortured by these cruel doctors. Not on purpose.
They won't lay a hand on you, Connor had promised. But he'd been wrong. Oh, so wrong.
"Up the dosage. We don't want her lucid."
Isy clung to the mental pictures of her men. So beautiful. So perfect. They would come for her. They had to.
She almost smiled as a hard ache flashed between her legs.
Then her mind spun out of control and she couldn't grasp on to any memories at all. Before the world went black, she heard her voice boom through the laboratory. With her last cognizant thought, she realized she hadn't uttered words, but screeched a howling, primeval scream.
* * * *
"Who were these men?"
"Where did they come from?"
"Did you learn their names?"
"What did they tell you?"
"How many were there?"
Isy's fingernails dug into the armrests of her chair. She'd been handcuffed to them, and the metal edges bit into the inside of her wrists. Yet the pain assaulting her flesh hurt no worse than the barrage of questions, which had been hammering at her for weeks. Months, maybe. Years. She wasn't sure.
It felt like she'd been in here for eons. This was her home now, her prison, the site of her eternal rest, as far as she was concerned. These people would never let her go. They interrogated her for hours on end, only to drug her and bring her back to the lab, where they'd begin endless tests all over again.
God, is this what happened to every woman over the age of forty who gave in to her forbidden impulses? Or was she special? Were they treating her differently because she'd made love to Trevor and Connor, and not to men from her own time?
"I...” She licked her parched lips. “I don't know anything else. I've told you all I can."
She hadn't at first, but then, as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks flittered away into months, there'd been no reason to hold onto her secrets any longer. Not that it had helped. She'd exp
ected to be laughed at, scorned for her flights of fancy. Instead, her confession had only encouraged her captors to punish her further, to test the limits of her endurance in ways she wouldn't have imagined before being brought here.
Wherever “here” was. She didn't know anything about the place beyond its sterile white walls, its laboratories with endless chrome surfaces and its barren, dark cells that reeked of mold and despair. A small shaft of sunlight would sometimes stream through the narrow window at the top of her cell, so she knew she wasn't underground. Beyond that, she had no idea where they'd taken her. Perhaps she was no longer even in New York.
"How did they convince you? Did they coerce you? Did they use drugs?"
Isy wanted to laugh, or cry. Neither would get her anywhere, so she gnawed the inside of her lip and forced her head up. Across from her, lined up along the opposite side of a long conference table, sat six people. Four men, two women. She'd never seen them before, but that didn't mean anything. She was a lab rat in a display case, poked, prodded and examined by anyone who cared to do so.
The irony of it all came from knowing Trevor and Connor had been wrong about her. Being with them, loving them, had given her no magical powers. She was still ordinary old Isy. These people knew that, too. For all their testing, they hadn't found anything that marked her as even remotely unusual. But they tried. Oh, God, how they tried.
"They abandoned you. Left you to us. They hate you. So why would you do it? Why give up your life for them, when they clearly don't care about you?” This new barrage of questions from a woman. Surely, another woman would understand.
"For love,” Isy heard herself whisper, knowing the words were as insane as she must have been at the time she'd let her desire get the upper hand over her reasonable, logical mind. And what if these people were right? What if Trevor and Connor had discarded her like a soiled shirt when they realized she had no magical powers after being with them?
"Dirty love, you mean.” A young blond man sneered and watched Isy with eyes so cold she imagined they could cut glass.
Memories of gentle caresses and softly whispered words sliced through the chaos in her mind. She clung to the shadow of warmth those memories evoked.
"Yes,” Isy murmured. She remembered Trevor's big hands cupping her face, Connor's teasing kisses. The memory gave her courage. She thrust her chin up a fraction of an inch. “And given the chance, I'd do it again."
At the looks of horror that crossed the faces of those seated before her, she felt her face stretch into a grin. “And again, and again, and again."
* * * *
"Your men are dead."
Isy had just taken a bite of toasted bread when the news slammed home like a bullet that ricocheted inside her skull. She tried to swallow, but the food stuck in her throat, making it hard to breathe.
She coughed, reached for the plastic cup of filmy water that had been placed in front of her, and forced herself to drink. The lump of soggy bread finally glided down her throat, but her eyes still swam in an unfocused haze.
"You're wrong,” she croaked out. “It's impossible."
"We found their bodies two days ago in a parking lot behind an abandoned warehouse. Tough luck, huh?"
The world stopped. Froze. And Isy with it.
Her lungs couldn't draw air. Images of Trevor and Connor covered in blood, their bodies battered and twisted, crept into Isy's mind and burrowed there.
Pain simmered through her, so sharp and acute it made it impossible to breathe. Something stirred in her gut. That same elemental rush that had shifted deep in her belly while her men had been deep inside her now nudged itself awake.
The room spun. Faster and faster, until it sped to a dizzying pace. Air left her lungs in shallow gulps, until she thought she might pass out, and welcomed the thought.
Maybe it'll all end now.
"Get up.” Cruel fingers seized her armpits, heaved her out of the chair. She lost her balance and crashed against a solid wall of muscle.
The man lifted her. She closed her eyes, desperate to give in to the streaming rush of molten despair that filled her mind and body. After long minutes, whoever carried her pushed her away, then shoved her, hard. She landed violently on her knees. The flesh of her kneecaps scraped against rough concrete.
"Get out of here. Go!"
She splayed her palms out in front of her and rose, unsteadily, on all fours. Blinking up at the man silhouetted in the doorway of a massive red brick building, she shook her head, not understanding.
"You're the most unremarkable woman we've ever tested. There's nothing dangerous about you, except the way you cling to your delusions. A psychotherapist can do more for you than we can. Freak,” he added for good measure before slamming the door and leaving Isy kneeling on the street.
A sharp chill drifted up her body like icy tendrils, making her shake. Her breath whooshed out in frosty puffs. She sat back on her legs and ran her hands up and down her arms in a feeble effort to warm herself. She wore nothing but a tattered pair of shorts and a shirt that was missing a sleeve.
All around her, New York slumbered. The whirr of an occasional motor reached her ears, but otherwise, the city lay dormant. Even the building that had been her prison all these long months appeared harmless as it blended in with the shadows of night.
A streak of purple at the edge of the horizon announced the coming dawn. Against it, silhouetted like a metal behemoth, stood the old Manhattan Bridge.
Groaning, Isy rose. A throbbing twinge speared her knee. She gritted her teeth against it, and headed for the bridge.
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CHAPTER 9
Connor thought he understood pain. He'd felt it before, countless times. Passing Phase Travel Investigations’ rigorous training program meant that even a social anthropologist like him would be subjected to numerous bullet and knife wounds. He'd mastered weapons training and had sailed through armed combat like he'd been born with an automatic rifle in his hand. And yeah, he'd spent his share of time in PTI's private hospital wing, getting patched up and hitting on the nurses.
But nothing, nothing had prepared him for the agony of seeing suffering etched on the pale features of the woman he loved. It blazed through him like ripples of electric shock, setting every muscle on edge.
"Close up! Damn it, somebody get me a close up!” His roar echoed like that of a provoked lion through the surveillance room.
On the third screen from the left, someone zoomed in on Isabel's face. She looked straight up as though gazing deep into his eyes. Except she was eighty years away, and he knew she couldn't see him. The haunted flickers he glimpsed in her gaze practically tore his heart in two.
"Fuck! What have they done to her?"
He whirled, fists clenched at his sides, looking for someone to punch. At this point, anyone would do.
"We don't know, Con. No eyes in there, remember?"
Flickers of red tainted Connor's vision. He stalked toward his boss and had the distinct pleasure of seeing the older man flinch. Bobby Braddock was in his mid-sixties, just months away from retirement. His motto, at this point, was “Don't rock the boat.” He'd do whatever it took to sail under the radar until he could earn his pension check. The longer he could go without drawing attention from the big boys in Washington who funded the operation, the better.
"We should have never left her in there. I should have gone back, should have—"
"We took your phase teleportation device away for a reason. You couldn't have gone back."
Anger surged in Connor's chest. He'd never felt as impotent in his entire life as he had in the past seven months. Not knowing what was happening to Isy raked at his soul, until he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. It took effort just to tear himself away from the surveillance screens, which were fixed on the building that housed a secret branch of the Medical Board. A building they'd only discovered six weeks earlier.
"I should have stolen the motherfucking device.” He rammed a finger in
to Bobby's chest, then fought the urge to step back from the reek of old sweat and cheap cologne that assaulted his nostrils. “And you know what kills me? That I let you convince me she wasn't in there."
Bobby lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. A shimmer of anxiety showed on his ruddy features, and a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “You know the rules, Con."
"Fuck the goddamned rules!” He spun and pointed to the screen, which had been paused on Isy's beautiful face. “Look at her! Look!"
His heartbeat hammered his chest. His pulse thrummed in his ears and pressed against his eardrums, wild and incoherent. He couldn't stop looking at the image showing a mere shadow of the woman he loved. She looked nothing like the vibrant, gorgeous Isy he'd made love to all those months ago. The skeletal figure who'd rolled onto the busted concrete when pushed out by a gruff orderly could have been anyone.
But she wasn't. She was his, damn it, and he was going to bring her back to him if he had to bulldoze his way through the entire PTI agency to do it.
Bobby cleared his throat. At the unnaturally loud sound, Connor realized the rest of the room had gone quiet. The eight other agents sat deathly still, and all eyes were focused on Connor and his boss.
He fought the urge to growl at all of them and bare his teeth.
Instead, he loomed over Bobby, leaning in so the other man had to take a step back. “You're going to give me the phase teleportation device. I'm going to get Isabel, and I'm going to bring her here. If you have a problem with that, report me to the fucking president, because I'm going to get this woman if I have to pummel you into the ground to do it."
The color drained from Bobby's face. Something in Connor's eyes must have told him he meant every word, because the man turned and headed for the doors. Connor followed him out.
They walked down a gleaming marble corridor, past a series of laboratories framed in floor-to-ceiling glass, and turned left at the end of the hall. At the elevators, Bobby shoved his hands in his pockets. He wouldn't meet Connor's eyes.