Bond with Me

by Anne Marsh

  “No more choices, baby,” he demanded, and she knew her frisson of attraction didn’t escape those dark, watching eyes. He knew what she liked. There was no pretending this wasn’t happening. So why not embrace the moment? It wasn’t her choice any longer. Pleasure was a stealthy march over her body. Yes, why not enjoy this? Why not enjoy what he could offer?

  She stretched slowly and luxuriously, her muscles and sinews and skin melting into those talented fingers that pressed along every inch of her back and neck, coaxing her to life.

  His hands gently parted her thighs. For a moment, she fought a flash of vulnerability. He could see her, all of her. “Shhh, love.” His unbound hair brushed over the vulnerable skin of her neck. The sharp prickle of sensual awareness had her shifting slowly again, feeling every inch of her body come alive.

  For him.

  Wet.

  Flowering.

  Dathan finally had Pell spread out before him, and no erotic fantasy could have prepared him for the sweet revelation of her naked body and more naked soul. He’d waited three long years to see her like this. He wasn’t going to rush. This was for her. The pleasure would bind her to him and then…then he could indulge the darker, sweeter fantasies that had tormented him for so long.

  He’d been living in a desert for three years. For three goddamned years, she’d denied him this. He fought the urge, his beast, which wanted to plunge her deep into sensual pleasure, so deep she’d howl for him, melt for him. He was going to do this slowly. He wouldn’t make her run from him. He wouldn’t lose her, not now. He’d draw her to him, coax her with every erotic skill he’d mastered.

  All for her.

  Nothing could have prepared him for the greed he felt, the shock of pleasure, as she lay naked and pliant before him. He wouldn’t forget this first time, so he’d make sure she couldn’t forget either.

  He could just sense her soul and allowed himself a small, delicious sip, because he couldn’t restrain himself completely. He’d waited too long for her, wanted her too much.

  He’d tried using other females, but each time, every time, he’d known that the woman in his arms offering her soul wasn’t Pell. Once he met her, it had been over for him. Finding her had been like finding the lost half of himself. And losing her might be more painful than losing his wings could ever be.

  So he wouldn’t fuck this up.

  Part of him still couldn’t believe he had her here, so close. Stretched out, bare. Wet. All that lush, heated flesh inches from his fingers.

  He bent his head, moving his tongue over her damp skin with a soft, heated caress. Exploring. Tasting the skin of her neck. Learning the taste and texture of the woman who would be his lover. He knew the friend intimately; now, it was the lover’s turn. His fingers stroked gently against the skin he’d tasted, soothing, anchoring her in his pleasure.

  “You’re beautiful.” He’d never had the gift of words. For her, though, he would have written poetry if he could have. There were no words to describe the sight of her in his arms.

  “Not really. Not—” She gasped as his tongue discovered a particularly sensitive spot beneath her shoulder blade. “Not like the women who chase you at the club.”

  “More beautiful.” God, it was true. “I’ve never met another female like you.”

  He welcomed the small flash of jealousy, the small stamp of possession from this woman who had eluded him for so long. He was going to be hers, just as every inch of her belonged now to him. Or would. Just as soon as they were bonded.

  His cock was thick, harder than it had ever been. Already, fluid wept from the plum-colored tip of him. God, he wanted her.

  And she wanted him.

  He drank in the tiny moan she gave him as she stretched beneath him, seeking more contact.

  “Hold on,” he ordered. “Don’t let go.” Deliberately, he wrapped her hands around the edge of the padded massage bench.

  “Or?” The note of sensual challenge in her voice made his cock stiffen further.

  “Or you’ll get what’s coming to you, baby.” Deliberately, he made his voice a low growl, watching the delicious flush of arousal pinken her skin further. The small, sharp slap he landed on her ass made a cherry-colored brand that faded even as she moaned. Oh, yeah. She liked that. Liked his possession.

  “Remember,” he breathed. “You’re going to be mine. You’re going to do what I tell you to do when we’re in bed. You’re going to enjoy it. Imagine how many times I’ll make you come. First, riding just my fingers, so I can feel every spasm. Then against my mouth. I want to taste you. Eat you up.”

  “Oh, my God, Dathan.” The needy whimper was back in her voice, her body undulating beneath his. Reaching for what he wanted to give her.

  “Do you want to come now for me, baby? Do you need to come?”

  Her breath was a ragged pant. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bench. Holding on. He wanted those fingers wrapped around his dick, tugging him to her. But her pleasure came first. Always would.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Yes, Dathan. Yes to all. Do something. Make me come now.”

  His fingers slid along her hot, wet sex. Slid forward through the thick juices.

  She whimpered.

  With one finger, he slipped inside her, feeling the heated flesh clamp desperately around his finger, milking him. Oh, yeah, she was hot for him. He let the other fingers dance wickedly over the flesh surrounding him. Petting. Stroking in a diabolical rhythm.

  Deliberately, he slid his heavy cock along the seam of her ass.

  “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride my fingers. Take me.”

  When she came, milking his fingers, a piece of him came with her, his soul spasming with the pleasure of her orgasm.

  “That’s once.” Primal satisfaction filled his voice. She was too dazed with pleasure to care. “Let’s make it twice.”

  He slid down her body, and she buried her face in the now-heated leather, muffling the moans that she couldn’t hold back.

  “I want to hear you, darling. Let the boys here hear you.”

  God. Their audience. She’d forgotten all about them. Embarrassment was washed away in the next wave of pleasure, however, as his mouth found her ass. A dark spear of unspeakable pleasure twisted through her as those lips traced a wicked path and his fingers followed.

  “Don’t let go.” A sharp, sensual tap on her ass followed his words. She held on tighter, the pleasure coiling deep inside, filling her. “Hold on for me, baby.”

  Then his mouth covered her sex and rational thought vanished.

  The world around her narrowed to a tunnel of heated sensations and textures. The soft grain of the leather. The scent of her arousal and his.

  “Wet for me, baby,” he groaned against her. “You’re so wet.”

  Male satisfaction filled his voice and then he dragged his tongue through her folds, tasting her as he’d promised. The dark stabs of pleasure had her pussy tightening. His thumbs spread her open. Not enough. Too much. He was eating her like a starving man, whispering his praises in between each delicious, hot drag of his tongue through her saturated core.

  The pleasure built uncontrollably.

  “Tell me you want me,” he growled, his tongue leaving her for a moment so that she wanted to let go of the bench and drag him back to her to finish what he had started. “Say it!”

  “Dathan,” she panted, writhing against him. “Oh, God, I want you!”

  “Now tell me what you want from me,” he demanded. “Name your favor, Pell.”

  She couldn’t think past the pleasure he was giving her. Finally, “Safety,” she gasped. “You keep me safe, Dathan.”

  “And?” he prompted, those wicked hands stroking her flesh. Laying her bare.

  “I’m all yours,” she whispered.

  “Body and soul,” he promised. “Bond with me, Pelinor Arden.”

  “Yes,” she groaned against his mouth. “God, yes, Dathan.”

  He drove into her mind as he slid his cock
into her body.

  Her hot, wet pussy was clamped desperately around him, squeezing his cock in a velvet grip, and the sexy little whimpers she was making in his ear were driving him insane. Driving him over the edge. And God, the sense of welcome. Of homecoming. Nothing had prepared him for this.

  Her mind opened before him as he slid inside her thoughts. Now he truly had all of her. Her emotions overwhelmed him, calmed that terrible thirst. Hell, his beast was almost purring at the taste of her lust. Heat. The intimate connection to him. Oh, yeah. She knew who was holding her, whose body was penetrating hers.

  Her hips arched up to meet his and he forgot the sensual skills he’d spent centuries mastering. He’d waited so long and now he wanted all of her.

  “Pell,” he breathed as they came together. Dark pleasure rocketed up from his balls as he shot inside her. He knew the moment she sensed his presence inside her, inside her mind. Her eyes snapped open. Wide. Not afraid—she wasn’t afraid. Desperate relief poured through him. Maybe, just maybe, she could accept him. All of him. The skin on the back of his neck was twitching with a life of its own, his entire body preparing to turn itself inside out.

  All for her. Only for her.

  “Dathan?” Her soul whispered to his.

  “Yes,” he breathed.

  The bond snapped into place, the thick bands of dark ink twining around their wrists.

  Eleven

  M City in the early dawn didn’t look that different from the urban centers Pell’s travels had taken her to in the United States of North America. The changing light hid the truth.

  Hid the upheaval she’d lived through last night. She wasn’t the same woman who had gone into the bathhouse. And he wasn’t the same male. Dathan. She shot him a sideways glance and decided not to push her luck. Something had happened in the dark. Something, she thought, that might not be reversible, no matter what the bond lore claimed.

  But she was getting what she wanted. Dathan had sworn to protect her.

  Neither the Goblin nor the man would fail her.

  Pell knew that in her heart now.

  When his cell rang, Brends snapped it open without hesitating. Time to put the next part of the plan into action.

  As he’d expected, Dathan’s voice was on the other end. “It’s done.”

  “Witnessed?” Without witnesses, there wouldn’t be a bond, and he needed the pair bonded.

  “Yeah. We’re headed out of town now.”

  Brends couldn’t stop himself from imagining for one brief moment what it would be like if he were the one headed out of town with a new bond mate in tow. The lightheaded ecstasy of finally connecting to a soul. The thirst a sated, lazy beast prowling on the edge of consciousness but its claws sheathed for the moment. He’d had other souls, but none, he suspected, would come close to what having Mischka would be like. The low, warm note in Dathan’s voice conveyed more clearly than words that the brother wasn’t regretting his most recent choice.

  How long had it been since Brends had really tasted a soul? He’d drunk wildly those first decades after the fall—driven by desperation and the unimaginable sensation of being cut off from the Heavens and all that was light and good. A male got used to it, however. Got used to it or went insane—slow or quick—and then made the necessary choices.

  Zer’s private residence was an old M City palace on an old boulevard with the psychic stink of old crimes. The very stones reeked of vice and misery. Zer might have replaced the century-old plate glass with more bullet-resistant material, but the dark woods and thick carpets were decadent, a deliberate nose-thumbing at the former human owners who had squandered a considerable fortune over the short course of two centuries and been forced to sell long before the Soviets had confiscated worldly goods from their more prudent brethren.

  Zer hadn’t let the Soviets gain so much as a toehold in his private citadel. Even now, the bar was stocked with antique crystal and imported bottles. Brends caught sight of his own dark face as he crossed the room. Hell. He needed a drink. He couldn’t get Dathan out of his mind and that wasn’t like him. Pell. That was the girl’s name. Pell had turned Dathan inside out and Dathan didn’t seem to mind.

  How could one human female change a fallen angel so much?

  And why hadn’t Dathan fought her influence?

  At any rate, as long as Dathan kept himself whole, Pell Arden could look forward to a lengthier life than she had any right to expect, because the bond mate lived as long as her bonder lived.

  The soft slide of footsteps on the expensive carpet yanked Brends from his thoughts. Nael preceded their sire into the room, his cold eyes examining the room for potential danger. He’d served the last five centuries as Zer’s self-appointed bodyguard. He might have possessed a frat boy’s sense of humor—even though there hadn’t been frat boys that long—but the warrior’s honor was solid. As was his loyalty. He’d lay his life down for their sire, and Brends respected that.

  Zer entered the room on Nael’s heels, not waiting for the other male to finish his inspection, tossing weapons onto a leather club chair. Dark. Dangerous. Brends studied his sire’s face, but there were no obvious signs of anger. “No more deaths,” Zer confirmed. “Not yet. Has your tracker got a bead on the rogue?”

  “A partial.” He took a sip of the Armadale he’d lifted from the liquor cabinet, savoring the smooth, ice-cold burn of the liquor. “We’ve got tracks outside her flat. Tracker spotted movement the first night, but turned up nothing. The killer is out there, Zer—I guarantee it. He’ll come out when we find the right draw.”

  “The girl.”

  Mischka. Fuck. She had a name, even if Brends himself was reluctant to use it. He didn’t want to make this any more personal than it had to be. “Yeah. The rogue wants her, wants her cousin. He’ll come for them and we’ll be waiting.”

  Zer nodded, pouring two fingers of vodka into an iced shot glass. Banged back the liquor without so much as a flinch. Tough bastard. “Cousin’s out of the picture now?”

  “Dathan bonded her last night. He’s taking her out of town now. I’ll put a tracker on their trail in case the rogue switches targets again, but in my opinion, they should be clear. Our rogue has a real thing for the other one.”

  Nael chimed in with a lazy assessment. “Dathan bonded her good.” The amused arousal in his eyes was obvious. “She said all the right words in all the right places. Hot little piece. Too bad she wasn’t in the mood to share.”

  Sometimes, the newly bonded females were willing to take their witnesses as well as their bonders. Brends had taken part in more than one orgy, but he was almost certain that Dathan would not have permitted it last night, even if his new bonded had been willing. Dathan had it bad.

  Something was up with that brother. That was more than some really, really—really, from the look on Nael’s face—hot sex.

  Zer put it into words. “You think it could be something more? This thing between Dathan and his new bonded?”

  “Sex,” Brends said. He propped a booted foot up on the table. “You should try it.”

  “This from the male who’s still looking to end a decades-long drought.”

  He gently swirled the liquid in his glass. “So I’m more particular than Nael here.”

  Nael cursed lightly and fluently. “Perhaps I’m looking for my soul mate; bet you’d like to find yours. I know I’m doing the best I can to track down mine.” His dark eyes fired with lazy sensuality, growing heavy lidded.

  “Pass,” Brends snorted. “Bedtime fairy tale for younglings. Don’t you think that if there were soul mates, someone would have found one of these women by now? We’ve been down here for what, a little over three millennia? And the soul-mate count? Is still at zero. Although not”—he eyed Nael—“for lack of trying on your part. Last time I checked, you were sliding from bed to bed as if you were personally going to check out every female in the city.”

  He’d ceased believing in the legend of the soul mates more than a millennium ago.
He hadn’t had a soul mate then and he certainly didn’t have one now. Let alone one that could redeem him, hand him the keys to the Heavens and his lost wings.

  “Sacrilegious bastard. Just because no one has,” Nael muttered, “might just mean it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe the others will find soul mates. Maybe you will.”

  Brends had given up hope a long time ago. There weren’t going to be any soul mates in his brothers’ futures; the one perfect female was just a myth. Another example of Michael’s twisted perversions and why Brends’s only regret now was that he hadn’t managed to kill the other male when he’d had a chance.

  No, there wasn’t a night that went by that Michael’s perfect, golden countenance didn’t dance in his dreams, taunting Brends as he plunged his shortknife through the thick membranes of Brends’s wings as casually as if he were sawing a loaf of day-old bread in half—rather than inflicting a gut-wrenching agony. The screams of his sister followed him in the dreams as he fell, screams that were cut off long before enough distance had separated them from the blessed sensation of sound. Michael had gotten to her. Michael had put his hands on her pale, gold body.

  Hell, yeah, he wanted to gut the bastard.

  But fucking another human female wouldn’t help him win that particular war.

  If that made him a cynical bastard, so be it.

  “We need to know where Mischka Baran is. At all times.” Zer was clearly thinking things through. “It would be best if one of us bonded her—easier to track her with that kind of connection.” He set his own empty glass back on the bar top. “You want to do it, Brends, or you want me to do it?”

  Brends fought the unexpected swell of instinctive possession. No way in hell was he letting any of his brothers at Mischka Baran. He’d shared any number of females with them over the centuries, but he wasn’t sharing Mischka. He wasn’t sure why she was different. Hell, maybe it was a family thing, seeing how Dathan had reacted to that damned cousin of hers. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be sharing. Not in this lifetime.