“Like that, do you?” he asked.
She opened her eyes. “Maybe a little,” she replied.
He arched a brow. “Maybe a little?” he repeated then ran the palm of his hand over the silky smoothness of her right cheek. He dug his fingers gently into the flesh and pressed his thumb into the valley between.
“Maybe a lot,” she corrected, squirming.
“Turn over, woman,” he ordered.
Laci sighed deeply then did as he commanded, his hand trailing over her hip as she rolled to her back. His palm landed over the apex of her thighs, covering the small patch of hair left from her recent waxing.
“Still sore?” he asked.
“Nope,” she said. “Plow away, Tater.”
His lips stretched into a knowing grin and he angled his fingers downward as she slid her legs apart for him to cup her. Slowly he rubbed her while he held her gaze, enthralled.
“I missed this,” he said. “Feeling the heat of you, the way my touch makes your honey flow.”
“Honey. Is that what it tastes like to you?”
He removed his hand from her and brought it to his mouth. Sweeping out his tongue, he licked his palm. “Yeah,” he replied. “Honey and cream.” He returned his hand to her core but this time slipped his middle finger between the slick folds. He pressed deep then slowly withdrew.
“I used to dream of this,” he said so quietly she barely heard him. “When I hurt so badly.”
She said nothing. If he was ready to talk to her about his imprisonment and years of torture, she’d listen but—truth be told—she didn’t want to know the horrible things they’d done to him. It made her soul ache to think of the man she so dearly loved being in pain. She wasn’t sure she could live with the knowledge.
He slid his finger deep once more. “I think they wanted to see how much I could take before I snapped but I had a talisman they knew nothing about.”
“A talisman?” she asked.
“You,” he replied. “I had you there with me.”
“As I will always be with you,” she vowed.
“I know that, Laci.”
Out again—slowly—then in with a slight twist of his finger before easing back and inserting a second then third.
Laci closed her eyes to the sweet torment he was exacting between her legs. He was readying her for him. Taylor’s shaft was long and thick and despite the many times they had made love before he’d been taken from her, she was still tight. His entering her bordered on uncomfortable unless her juices were flowing freely.
He leaned down so his lips were at her ear. “I dreamed of being inside you,” he whispered. “Of staying there. It was only then I could endure what I was facing. You kept me sane.”
She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, to bring his mouth to hers. Her kiss was as passionate as she could make it. She needed him inside her as much as she knew he wanted to be.
Taylor pulled his hand free and moved over her, settling his hips between her thighs. The hard jut of his cock pushed at the nether curls to smear a few drops of pre-cum in the golden spikelets.
“I love you,” he said against her lips.
Her hand in his hair, her tongue darting into his mouth to duel with his, she ran her free hand between them to grip his cock. She lifted her hips and pressed the broad mushroom head to her entrance.
“I love you,” she told him.
Sliding his hands beneath her firm rump, he hefted her to him and thrust slowly, possessively into her slick heat until he was tight against her womb. He held himself there—staring into her eyes—for a few beats of their hearts, then began to glide in and out in a rhythm that brought her legs up to clamp around his waist.
He lowered his mouth to hers and slipped his tongue past her lips in and out in the same measured tempo as his shaft penetrating her body. Beneath him, Laci ground her hips against his and a low groan deep in her throat told him the soft barb on the tip of his cock was dragging across her sweet spot.
His kiss became more demanding.
The speed of his thrusts increased.
Fingers sinking into the taut muscles of her ass brought her as tight to his body as he could get her.
He braced himself on the tips of his toes, digging into the mattress of their bed and pushed harder, quickening his insertions.
Sweat began to bead on his forehead as he strove to keep the release that was burning his cock to cinders from erupting. The glorious slide of her hot flesh across him, the tight little squeezes of her inner muscles plying around him, taking a toll on his control. He wanted to push into her with wild, frenzied plunges that would shake the bed under them. It was all he could do to continue the unrushed thrusts.
Laci groaned. Her thighs tightened around him and the muscles of her cunt grabbed him hard. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his arms as she pulled him to her. He knew she was on the verge of coming and increased the snap of his hips against her. He hefted her higher, his knees pressing into the mattress now.
She stiffened for a fraction of a second then came so hard stars spun at the periphery of her vision. Her inner muscles compressed with strong, hard ripples around her life-mate’s cock and she heard him hiss. He threw his head back—coming as hard as she was.
Looking up at the underside of his chin, watching the cords stand out in his neck, deep-crimson color wash over his face, she knew his orgasm was doing to him what hers was doing to her. His seed was scalding her, spurting deep and in that instant she knew that seed would take root inside her womb.
Absolute joy spread over Laci Albright and she clawed at his shoulders—wanting to pull him inside her and keep him there where nothing and no one would ever hurt her man again.
Taylor clamped his jaw tight to keep from bellowing as his release went on and on. It felt to him as though he had a pint of cum pouring into his woman. As glorious as the release was, it was draining him as no other ever had. His entire body was beginning to shake and he jerked his hips, pulling out of her before he thought.
“Taylor!” she shrieked as the flexible barb raked over her clit and another orgasm tightened around him to pull him back inside her, milking him of every last drop, the slightest speck of seed.
Staring wide-eyed at him, he knew she understood what had just happened. For a long time they simply looked at one another then Taylor drew in a deep breath. When he exhaled, he gave her a command that brooked no resistance, no opposition and offered no way out.
“You will marry me before the day is out.”
Laci nodded. “Yes, Reaper. I will.”
Chapter Nineteen
The plane landed at the regional airfield in Watertown at ten p.m. Central Daylight Time. While the engines were cycling down, Coulter went to the cockpit and told the captain to radio the Exchange they had landed though he was sure the Ridge Lord already knew.
“Headlights,” the co-pilot said, pointing to starboard.
Coulter ducked down to see out the windshield. He narrowed his eyes and sent his powers streaking for the van headed their way. Before four seconds passed he knew the three men inside were the ones they were supposed to meet.
“And let them know the other half of our team has arrived,” he told the captain.
“Roger,” the captain replied.
Straightening, Coulter left the cockpit. “Our ride is here,” he announced. “Gear up.”
The steward opened the hatch and lowered the stairs as the black van rolled to a stop twenty feet away. The driver door opened and a tall, lanky man unfolded himself from the van. Two other men—each of them dressed in the black uniforms of their cadre—got out and came to stand in the beams of the headlights.
“I know that guy on the right,” Fallon said as he looked out the porthole. “He’ll be the dude from Buenos Aires.”
“Saur, isn’t it?” Sorn asked. “Rom Saur?”
“Yeah, that’s Romao,” Cree provided. “I think the shorter one is Lucan Wynth but I don’t know the driv
er.”
“Well, we’re gonna find out,” Coulter said. He swung his backpack over his left arm and moved to the hatch.
“That bastard has an uncanny talent of stating the obvious, don’t he?” Fallon grumbled.
“Would you mind moving out of the way?” Skylar asked.
Fallon turned with a scowl. “Would you mind going to hell?” he asked sweetly.
“Let the lady pass,” Cree said though he was giving her the same frown Fallon was.
“Why do you wear all white?” Sorn asked. He’d been mulling over her white blouse and skirt since she’d boarded.
“Why do you wear all black?” she countered.
“It’s the Reaper uniform,” he replied.
“Well, there you go,” she said.
“Okay, but why not slacks?” he asked, following behind her.
“Banshees don’t wear slacks,” she said.
“Why not?” he pressed but she ignored him. He looked around at Cree. “Why not?”
Cree shrugged. “How the hell would I know, Sorn?” he queried.
Sorn hurried after her for she was already descending the stairs. “Hey, Banshee! Why not?” he called out. “Huh? Why not?”
“The smart part of that boy is still running down his old man’s leg,” Fallon with a shake of his head.
Cree sighed. Sometimes Fallon annoyed him so much he was tempted to pull the little bastard’s head off.
And it didn’t matter which one at that point.
“Hit the stairs, pup,” Cree said, waving his hand irritably at his fellow Reaper. “We don’t have all night.”
When Cree and Fallon joined the Banshee and the other five Reapers, Coulter was shaking hands with the unknown warrior. He glanced at Fallon. “We’ve got another Hell-hound here.”
Fallon narrowed his eyes as he came forward. “I wasn’t aware there was another Hell-hound.”
“Nor was I,” the man said. He didn’t offer to shake Fallon’s hand and Fallon didn’t offer to shake his. He stared back at Fallon without acknowledging the other Reaper.
“Maybe you two should just sniff each other’s butts,” Skylar said and when the men gave her raised eyebrow looks, she shrugged. “Isn’t that what you hounds do?”
“I’ll pass,” the man said, his lips twitching.
Fallon grunted.
“Mikhail Fallon,” Coulter said. “Bastian Belial.”
The two Hell-hounds nodded curtly to one another but didn’t speak.
“There’s a tree over there,” Skylar said and once again each of the men looked at her. “Curious to see which one of you is going to whip it out and pee on it first.”
“Fuck off, Banshee,” Fallon snapped and when she grinned malevolently at him, he growled.
“Alrighty then,” Coulter said. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the remaining three boxes. “Here’s your rings. Read the instructions.”
Saur, Wynth and Belial took the boxes then Belial jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “If you’re ready, I’ll take us to the motel we’re using as ops. It’s only two clicks from the estate where the target has taken up residency.”
“Let’s roll out,” Coulter agreed.
The van was a Mercedes Benz Sprinter with twelve-passenger capacity. After their gear was stored in the rear compartment, Sorn and Skylar took the last seat and the others filed into the middle seats with Belial once more driving and Coulter sitting shotgun.
“Where are you stationed?” Coulter asked Belial.
“Madrid, where I’m Alpha Prime. I have nine Reapers under my jurisdiction in Europe. You?”
“Iowa.”
“The Heartland,” Belial said. “The others?”
“Iowa but Fallon is permanently assigned to the Island,” Coulter replied.
Belial glanced at him as he started the van. “As what?”
“Agent liaison,” Coulter said. “He deals with PTSD patients.”
“Why do you need three Reapers in Iowa?”
“I’m the Alpha at the Exchange and Sorn is the Alpha at Tearmann. Cree is our Alpha Prime and is assigned to the Baybridge Institute.”
“Ah, yes,” Belial said with a nod. “I’ve sent a few miscreants there.” He glanced in the mirror. “Wynth was just transferred to the Jahan Residentia as the Alpha Prime there. He has Russia as his bailiwick. I believe he has nine Reapers also.”
“And Saur?”
“He’s Alpha Prime in Buenos Aires. He has fourteen Reapers patrolling South America and the Leeward Islands.”
“What’s it like being an A.P.?” Coulter inquired.
“Like herding cats,” Belial said with a grin. “Actually, most of my cadre are Panthera.”
“And you’re the top dog,” Coulter said, returning the grin.
Fallon’s snort drew Belial’s eyes to the rearview mirror. He sighed. “I’m going to have trouble with him, aren’t I?” he asked softly.
“Don’t feel bad. Everyone has trouble with him,” Coulter replied.
* * * * *
“We fly,” Skylar said with exasperation.
“So?” Sorn pressed.
She blew out an annoyed breath. “When we fly, the skirt billows out like a shroud. We look like ghosts streaking through the air and we skirl.”
“You what?”
“Skirl, Panthera. Skirl!”
“What the hell is that?”
Digging her fingernails into the gauzy material of her white skirt, she twisted in the seat to face him.
“You ever get your tail stepped on when you Convert?” she demanded.
“No.”
She pursed her lips. “Ever heard a bagpipe played very badly?”
“How the hell would you know?”
“That’s skirling,” she said. “A loud, shrill, wailing tone—prolonged to grate on the nerves. When a Banshee wails, it scares the shit out of the ones who hear it. It’s part of our arsenal of weapons.”
He stared at her for a few seconds then his eyebrows shot up. “Okay, I get it. The sound unnerves your target.”
“Precisely,” she said. “Now shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
Sorn could see her nipples pressed against the bodice of her white dress and he felt his cock stir. The material was nearly transparent but her body was so pale he could see nothing more than the shadowy outline of her curves. With her silvery eyes and long white hair, he could see why those she went after would think ghostling. He wondered what it would be like to have her long slender arms and legs wrapped around him.
“You’ll never know,” she said as she stuck the ear buds into her ears.
He shook himself to rid his mind of carnal thoughts of her. “What are you listening to?” he asked.
“The iPod,” she said then shifted her body so her back was to him.
Turning around in his seat, Cree ordered Sorn to leave her alone.
“Just trying to be friendly,” Sorn stated.
“I don’t need any fucking friends,” she mumbled.
Cree faced forward again, exhaling sharply.
“Not likely to get any, either,” Fallon—who was seated beside him—chuckled meanly.
* * * * *
Coulter lowered the binoculars. “Quite an extensive compound for a former general don’t you think?” he asked Cree.
“If he’s on the North Koreans’ payroll, they’ll have provided well for him.” He pointed at a large outbuilding east of the mansion. “Balgair dorm?”
“That would be my guess,” Coulter agreed.
The one-story building had guards both in front and at the rear.
“How many you got showing, Wynth?” Cree asked.
Wynth looked up from the heat-signature device in his hand. “Thirty life forms inside that building and two on each side of it. Thirty-eight in all.”
“What about inside the mansion?” Coulter inquired.
Adjusting the range of the device, Wynth reported another twenty-two people inside the huge mansion. “All
but seven of them are balgair,” he told them.
“The general, his wife and the five servants I’m thinking,” Coulter surmised. “No visitors at this time of night.”
“He’s certainly well-guarded,” Cree observed. “Thirty-eight in the dorm and fifteen in the mansion. Fifty-three balgairs. That’s a lot of hellions to have gotten from somewhere.”
“No Terran-assigned Reapers are missing for their hellions to have been harvested,” Coulter said. “Taylor’s hellion is within him again and couldn’t have provided offspring for them anyway so where the hell did the North Koreans get them?”
“Gods-be-damned good question,” Cree said with a sharp frown. He rolled over to his back and stared up through the trees. “Could the Ceannus be in contact with the North Koreans?”
“Gods, I hope not,” Wynth mumbled. “Where you have Ceannus, you usually have ghorets.”
At the mention of the most poisonous creatures in the Megaverse, Cree shuddered. Though Coulter had no personal knowledge of the vipers, both Cree and Wynth did.
“Okay, so how do we go about getting to the rogues inside the dorm without raising alarm?” Fallon asked. He, Sorn, Saur and Belial were hunkered down behind Cree and Coulter with Skylar having been left behind in the surveillance van until needed.
“We take out those guards first,” Belial said, stating the obvious.
“Would be nice if we had some kind of airborne knockout agent to toss down their chimney,” Saur remarked. “Take them all out at once before they could raise an alarm then we could go in and dispatch them to balgair hell. Nice and easy.”
“True that,” Sorn agreed. “Wonder why TPTB didn’t think of that?”
“TPTB?” Cree asked.
“The Powers That Be,” Sorn supplied. He was chewing bubble gum and blew a bubble, popped it then grinned as he drew the pink glob back into his mouth.
“Here’s a thought,” Fallon said. “Why not send the Banshee to Tearmann and have her pick us up a canister or two of trastacáin? Get some use out of her.”
A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) Page 24