Blood and Fire

by McKenna, Shannon

  As if that wasn’t enough, he rubbed his scratchy chin tenderly against her breasts, as if to console them for moving on, and slid lower.

  She grabbed his face to stop his downward progress. “Stop.”

  He lifted his head. “Why?”

  She sank her fingernails into his big, muscular shoulders. “I’m not getting onfun house ride alone,” she said. “I want company.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He pushed her thighs wider, placed his palm over her pussy, cupping her pubic fuzz. “I’m right here for you.”

  “No. I mean, I want it to be mutual.”

  He looked distressed. “Aw, what’s with the complicated rules? Let me make you come a few more times before I go off the deep end, OK?”

  “Let me touch you, too,” she insisted, still shoving.

  He fought for a while but gave in with a growl of amused acquiescence. She spun around until they were sixty-nined, and there he was, in all his glory. That big cock, bobbing in her face, dripping precome. His earthy, warm male musk made her mouth water.

  He waited while she got herself organized. It took some wiggling to find the angle. She needed both hands to handle him, and when she got down to it, he was so broad, velvety hot, rock hard. She gripped his shaft, feeling the veins taut and throbbing beneath her hands. Her hands tingled like sexual organs themselves as she went at him, lustily licking up every last salty gleam of precome, milking him to squeeze out more. Slow, swirling, tongue-lashing the head of his cock. Sucking him deeper as her mouth got used to his girth. She slid her hands up his stalk, fluttered her tongue. She could never get enough of making him quiver and groan and writhe. It made her feel powerful, like a goddess.

  It made her feel . . . well . . . happy.

  Happy? She had no business being happy. She was setting herself up to get her heart crushed under the wheels of a cement truck.

  A stab of panic almost quenched her arousal, but Bruno wouldn’t let that happen, with his perfect instincts. He just put his head between her thighs, put his mouth to her, and proceeded to drive her wild.

  She had to stop what she was doing, just lie back and gasp at the unbearable pleasure. His mouth moved tenderly over her clit, lips caressing, tongue plunging, swirling and trilling and sucking. Licking up her lube as if he were starving for it.

  After a while, they found their groove, and she grabbed his hips and sucked him deep, her thighs wrapped around his head. She could sense the grin on his face as he licked and lashed at her. She, of course, didn’t have the luxury of a smile with that huge phallus to deal with. It was all she could do to accommodate him at all. But she managed.

  They rode surging waves of voluptuous mutual pleasure, a perfect balance of power and trust, but he won the first round. He pushed her until she had to give in, sprawl back, and be washed tenderly away on wave after shining wave of surrender.

  She drifted back through the rainbow haze of aftershocks and found him sitting cross-legged next to her, stroking her hair.

  The look in his eyes scared her. It made her feel so raw. Hopeful.

  “You’re so beautiful, when you let go,” he said.

  She had to clear her throat before the mechanism would work. “Don’t get mushy on me, Ranieri. I’m not through with you yet.”

  He grinned. “I should hope not. My head would explode.”

  She gripped his cock, pulling him into her mouth again. Bruno wound the fingers of one hand into her hair and clamped the other around her hand where she gripped the base of his cock, his breath sawing harshly in and out of his mouth at each deep pull.

  It didn’t take long. His balls tightened, his taste changed, and he exploded with hot bursts of energy, like light strobing against her eyes.

  He shouted as heavy jets of come spurted out. Almost too much to keep in her mouth. She kept him inside until the last lingering pulses ended, and milked out every creamy drop.

  He flopped down beside her. They stared at each other, speechless, in the flicker of the lamplight. Sounds of the night came to the foreground as her heartbeat slowed. The whoo of the owls, the crackle of the dying fire. The murmur and sigh of wind-tossed trees.

  Bruno unwound himself and got up. He crouched to poke another couple of logs into the stove. Then he pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. He came back to bed, offering her the glass. She accepted it gratefully. He ran his fingers slowly through the fuzzy coil of hair that snaked over her arm as she drank.

  She smiled at him when she was done. “So. Looks like we did OK, right? As far as dangerous carnival rides go, I mean.”

  He shook his head, took the glass, put it on the floor, and pulled her hand onto his lap, curling her fingers around the breadth of his penis. He was hard again. Very. His heart throbbed under her hand.

  “That wasn’t the ride,” he said. “That was just the lead-in.”

  Her breath got caught in her constricted lungs. “Ah. I, uh, see.”

  He splayed her knees open and slid his hand up her inner thigh until he reached her muff, and then slid two fingers inside her pussy, tenderly parting the gleaming folds. “That was just to soften you up.”

  Her chest hitched with nervous laughter. “I had no idea that I needed, ah, softening up. What, am I too hard? Too tough?”

  “No.” He piled pillows behind her shoulders and rolled onto her body, settling between her thighs, shoving them apart wider. “Just tight,” he murmured. “Just small. You hug me.” He nudged the head of his cock between her pussy lips, teasing it deeper, lazily swirling himself until he was slick and gleaming. “But you’ll take me now. Right?”

  She arched, wordlessly trying to take in more of him.

  He grabbed her chin, forced her to stare into his eyes. “Right?”

  She could only nod, but even that evidently wasn’t enough for him. He still waited. She swallowed. “Right,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He thrust inside her, a slow, wonderful, tight slide.

  His cock stroked and squeezed and caressed her inside parts, surging deliciously in and out. Every swirling move a sweet, wet, candy-lick kiss. She bucked and squirmed in delight, straining for more.

  He kissed her ravenously as her legs twined, trapping him closer.

  He surged in deep, his hips jarring hers. She gasped with delight.

  “Now’s when the carnival ride begins,” he said.

  Nadia waited in the dark, her vehicle hidden by boughs of evergreen and darkness. She was in an altered state, as alert as a coiled snake, repeating DeepWeave DeepCalm sequences. She’d doubled her dose of the endorphin and serotonin regulators, too, to guard against inconvenient surges of emotion for Reggie and Cal. She felt their loss, but after taking the patches, it felt very far away.

  Headlights sliced and flickered through dense trees. She pressed down on the excitement before it unsettled her. She had gotten lucky. Only two hours, and her target was on the move.

  It had taken Hobart forever to drag together what scraps of information were available about Alex Aaro, and Hobart was the absolute best at information mining. They’d pinpointed his residence, but she knew better than to get physically within a mile of the place. If it took that long to get dirt on him, then he was very good. Careful to the point of pathologically paranoid. Ex-Ranger, raised in an arms-dealing Mafia family, security specialist. She would be very careful.

  The approach had to be subtle. It required luck, patience, cunning. And here he was. Crawling out of his den, after only two hours. Her heart rate kicked up as she saw the vehicle turn, and she lifted the infrared binocs to check the vehicle. He drove a Chevy Tahoe, a bland is-it-gray-or-is-it-bronze color. And yes . . . the figure in the driver’s seat was him, and he was alone. More luck. Yes.

  Hope thrilled her. This could be the successfully completed mission that would get her noticed by King. Maybe more than noticed.

  Like Zoe. She wondered if the rumors were true. That Zoe had been so blessed, so graced. It wasn’t fair, after the w
ay the stupid bitch had fucked up four years ago. She’d been buried at the nuthouse to pose as a nurse, and now he was rewarding her? Making her team leader? While Nadia was special series, with a string of successful missions under her belt. A spotless assignment history. Unfair. Particularly since Zoe was putting on airs now, as team leader. Carrying on like the favored concubine. Stupid, arrogant cow.

  Her tires crunched as she drove through the blind of pine boughs and pulled onto the road after Aaro. Maybe her time would come. Maybe it wouldn’t. None of them were worthy of that supreme blessing. She would do her duty, with all her heart, expecting nothing in return.

  Although she did have an uneasy feeling that she might have to prove herself all over again, after what had happened to Reggie and Cal. King might be wondering about the viability of the entire pod.

  In truth, Nadia had a guilty secret that tormented her dreams. She had not betrayed her podmate, but she’d known about Reggie’s secret rebellion. Natasha’s, too. Both of her podmates had actually sneaked outside books and read them, for almost a year before the all-important age fourteen testing date. It was an unspeakable offense that called for instant culling. Reggie had pulled himself together, covered his ass, avoided the cull. Natasha had not been so lucky. On her, it had shown.

  But she, Nadia. She had never done such a wrong, stupid thing. Never. She had stayed pure, absolutely obedient. Perfect.

  Her intense awareness of her own virtue made her almost giddy.

  She used night vision goggles as she drove, keeping a careful visual on his taillights. As soon as he reached a major intersection and turned, she flipped her lights on and hurried to keep up.

  He was pulling in at . . . oh, God, yes. Thank you, thank you, yes! A bar. Couldn’t be better. She was being tongue-kissed by Fate tonight.

  She pulled over, waiting for him to get out of his vehicle and go inside before pulling into the parking lot. She parked and opened her purse to organize herself. She had to get him alone, preferably at his home, to download the software onto his phone. If Fate continued to be amorous, perhaps she could plant some other devices as well. She had the spray kit, the quick-acting knock-out pill, and a tasteless, odorless hypnotic pill with aphrodisiac properties. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t need any of them. After all, she herself was the aphrodisiac.

  She preened in the mrror, dug for her lipstick. Freshened up with a glossy crimson that made her full lips even more seductive. Another pass with the mascara brush. She rearranged the bustier, propping up her cleavage. Fluffed her long, glossy chestnut hair.

  Nadia stuck the two pills, using weak glue, beneath the false nails on her index fingers, perfect for discreet flicking into a drink. She peeled adhesive backs from the slap-on GPS tags for his vehicle. She got out of the car, sauntered past his vehicle. Stumbled, crouched to adjust the strap of her four-inch heels, lost her balance. Caught herself on the bumper of his Chevy. Oops! She rose gracefully to her feet. Performing to no one felt silly, but at least no one could accuse her of being sloppy.

  Onward, to part two. She sashayed in a slow, hip-swinging walk into the place, letting her eyes adjust. The fuck-me-please outfit was a double-edged sword. She had to get right to him, or she’d end up fending off every horny lout who wandered into the place.

  Aaro sat at the end of the bar. Nadia weaved her way between jostling bodies and hot-eyed gazes. She slid into the seat next to his and fluttered her mascara-loaded lashes at him. She gave him her best slow, curving, just-imagine-what-I-can-do-with-theselips smile.

  “Buy a girl a drink?” she murmured.

  He glanced at her, gaze bouncing off and then, a half second later, sucked right back. She deepened the smile. Arched to accentuate the cleavage as his gaze dropped, checking out the whole picture.

  “I’m on a budget,” he said.

  Her smile froze. Fury rushed in. That rude, humorless dickhead.

  She gestured at the bartender. “Gin and tonic, please,” she called. She turned back to Aaro. “I can buy my own.”

  “That’s fortunate.”

  Well, well. She might actually need the drugs wedged beneath her fingernails. But never let it be said that one of King’s operatives wasn’t up for a challenge. She propped her elbows on the bar, cupped her chin in her hands, gave the bastard a kittenish stare.

  She liked what she saw, from a purely physical point of view. Aaro was tall, strong, muscular. She liked that as much as any girl. Thick shoulders, barrel chest, narrow waist, good ass. And his face intrigued her. Sharp, high, slanted cheekbones, caved in cheeks, heavy-lidded green eyes, the arrowing slash of his dark brows. His nose a craggy, bumpy hook that had seen some breakage. Long hair, dragged back into a cheap elastic band. A nondescript brown, but it was glossy and thick. His mouth a stern hyphen, cruelly flat. Dangerous. Very bad attitude. Hmmm.

  This could be fun. Nothing wrong with mixing business with pleasure, if pleasure served her ends. And King’s. Of course.

  She decided on blatant provocation. “You’re not too friendly,” she observed. “Makes a girl wonder why you’re here at all. You could sulk alone in the dark at home, if you wanted. It costs less.”

  His mouth hardened. “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart. Whatever you’re looking for tonight, I don’t have any.”

  Her gaze dropped to his black T-shirt, his faded jeans. The bulge at the crotch that hinted that just maybe, he might not be quite as unfriendly as his words suggested. “You have plenty,” she murmured.

  He took a swallow of his whiskey and set the glass down with a sharp thud. “I don’t think so.” His voice was brusque.

  “Aww.” She pursed her lips in an exaggerated, gleaming pout. “Why are you being so difficult?”

  “Because I’m not what ladies like. I don’t call the next day, I don’t send flowers, I don’t want to meet your kid, I don’t want to fight with your husband. I just want a glass of fucking bourbon.”

  She put one of her crimson nails against his hand. He froze. “I don’t want flowers.” She punctuated each word with a jab of her nail. “I won’t give you my number. I don’t have kids. Let me tell you why I’m here tonight.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m really not interested in—”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I’m telling you anyway.”

  After a moment, he jerked his chin at her to go on. Curious.

  Nadia improvised on the spot. “I just met with a private investigator who I hired to follow my husband. He had pictures of my husband’s affair. With my sister. Graphic pictures.” She let her lip quiver, ever so slightly, then ruthlessly tightened them. Trying to be strong.

  He shrugged. “That sucks. And this pertains to me . . . how?”

  “I’ll tell you how.” Nadia let her voice harden. “I shouldn’t call or see either one of those shitheads tonight. I need distraction. You’d be doing a great service to humanity, and you would single-handedly decrease this year’s violent crime rate of the greater Portland metropolitan area if you provided me with that distraction.”

  He gazed at her expressionlessly over the rim of his glass. “I’m not in the habit of putting myself at the service of humanity,” he said.

  “Then put yourself at the service of something more basic.” She reached under the bar. He caught her before she could grab his crotch.

  “Uh-uh,” he growled. “Don’t touch.”

  “Let me.” She let her voice drop to a throaty whisper. “You look so strong. You could make me forget.”

  His eyes were dilated, his cheekbones flushed. She almost had him, but he still shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re trouble.”

  “What if I am?” she asked. “It won’t matter. I’ll be long gone. I already know you’re a cheap, rude, woman-hating bastard, so I won’t expect manners, or gentleness, or clever conversation, or sweet talk.” She leaned closer to breathe the words in his ear. “I’ll be happy with inarticulate grunts. While you fuck me hard . . . from behind.”

  He rock
ed back, looking almost shocked. “Jesus, lady.”

  “Yes, I know,” she crooned. “I’m a very nasty girl tonight.”

  This time, he let her hand connect with the denim at his crotch. She almost squealed at what she found there. Big, hot. And rock hard.

  “Is that what your husband did with your sister in the pictures?” he asked. “He fucked her from behind?”

  She flinched and looked away, letting her hair fall forward to hide tears she could generate on command. She let the silence stretch out for a minute, sipping her drink as she got her emotions under control.

  Sniff. Oh, that perfidious snake of a husband. Oh, that lying, treacherous slut of a sister. They both deserved to die. They really did.

  She shook her hair back and took a huge, terrifying risk. “I’ll show you the pictures, if you want,” she said, brushing tears away with her knuckles, so as not to smear her mascara. “They’re in my purse.”

  She held her breath, heart thudding, as he considered looking at the sexually explicit photographs that she did not have.

  “I’ll pass,” he finally said. “I don’t need that kind of stimulation.”

  Tears of relief sprang into her eyes. She sniffed them back, theatrically. “Suit yourself. I don’t need to look at them again, either.”

  He looked almost . . . sorry for her. God, she was good. The best.

  “Take it or leave it,” she said. “No strings.”

  “Women say that a lot,” he replied. “It’s never true.”

  “You mean women actually talk to you that often?”

  The corner of his mouth curved up. She followed up her advantage, leaning close. “Believe me, big guy,” she whispered. “I don’t even want to know your name. Don’t tell me. I am so not interested.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes. He raised his drink. Her hand tightened greedily on his cock as he drained it. She could feel his pulse, a strong, rapid throb in his stiff rod. “Take me home,” she whispered.

  His eyes hardened. “I don’t take anybody to my home.”