Merc had wide shoulders and gentle hands, and a bearing that proclaimed he could take down any enemy.
She closed her eyes and pressed tighter.
“Hey, what’s this?” He lifted her face with gentle fingertips underneath her chin. There was a crease between his eyebrows, his mouth turned down, and when he ghosted his thumb underneath her eye, only then did she feel the wetness.
“Bad day today.”
“Anything I can do?”
Merc had wide shoulders and gentle hands, and she had only one chance to feel them, even if only in a dream. With that desire strong in her mind, her soul, she said, “You can take me home.”
As her meaning sank into him, his gaze grew heated, molten, and he wrapped those large hands around her waist and picked her up, laying her against his chest, holding her weight steady and showing how strong he was. Her arms encircled his neck, but she made no other move. She trusted him to hold her safe.
The scenery dissolved until they were now in a hotel, basic and boring but clean. That was all that registered before he lowered his head to place his lips on hers, asking without words to be let inside. She complied, eager to again experience this hard, hot side of him. The gentleness was still there underneath everything, but with her permission he grew aggressive, demanding, moving forward with a strong sweep of his tongue and using his mouth to open her wider.
While they kissed, Amana pushed his shirt up, pulling at the offending fabric of the t-shirt. She broke away, turning her attention to getting him undressed. Desperation clawed inside her, demanding she experience everything possible in these few last hours. “I want this off,” she breathed, and if she had the strength, she would have ripped it from his body.
He went back a step, but only one, as her hands grabbed at the bare skin of exposed waist and refused to let him go any further. In swift movement, the t-shirt was gone, and the long, lean, muscled lines of his torso were on display.
First she took him in with her eyes, and then she let her fingers help with the exploration. The skin on his chest was the same gorgeous shade of brown as his arms, and though her fingers itched to pull at his pants to see if that shade was universal, the lure of his tattoos won the temporary war for her attention.
Four black lines curled around each side of his waist, twisting around the muscles in his chest and stomach as if placed to highlight each firm stretch. Underneath her fingertips, the tattooed skin was velvet, lush and luxurious with the slightest roughness, a roughness that only highlighted the decadence of feeling.
Amana circled around him. His back was even more covered by tattoos, as the thick black lines curled over his shoulders and down his spine in addition to circling his torso. From the way the tattoos looked against the waist of his jeans, there was no doubt they were drawn even farther down his body.
She pressed herself against him, reveling in the feel of the skin against her as well as the sharp intake of breath. Her fingers clenched against the denim of the jeans. “These need to go as well.”
His head shifted so he could speak back to her. “Are you going to return the favor?”
“I’m going to do many things, but the first thing I need is to see how much of your body these tattoos cover and trace every inch of it with my tongue.”
The answer was a groan and a deep breath, and in moments his jeans and underwear pooled around his legs, where he kicked them off and stood before her, his back still to her, naked.
The tattoos swirled over his ass and hips before moving downward over his thighs and calves. While the majority of his skin was covered, to her eyes it wasn’t overdone. The balance between ink and skin was perfect.
She pressed close, wanting to sear the feel of his skin on hers while she breathed in the clean, salty tang of him. He was still beneath her fingers, his body rigid in waiting for her. “You are beautiful,” she whispered, forehead resting against his back and her lips so close to his skin that the puff of air released with her words ricocheted off his body and landed on her nose.
His voice was strangled, but low, even, still controlled. “While I have no objection to your plan involving the tattoos, do you think we could postpone that? Because I’m having a hell of a time not grabbing you up and stripping you naked.”
She smiled, and delight filled her at the shiver that shook his spine over the sensation of her lips on him. “I’m not as pretty as you are.”
“I guarantee you’re more so. And if you let me turn, I’ll prove it.”
“Far be it from me to not let you prove it.”
Merc turned, similar to their first meeting, but this time she kept her hands on his back and waist, letting the slow movement of his body lead her over the indents and hard ridges and learn him by touch. He was stunning, a statue by the masters come to life, lean lines and palpable power.
Now he faced her. Amana’s gaze wandered over him with shameless appreciation. Beautiful didn’t begin to cover it. He was as stunning as she had ever seen, as close to perfect in her eyes as possible. Pressing her hands flat over his pectorals, she took a more active role in discovering the firm flesh, stroking over his chest, up to his shoulders and down the corded muscle of his arms, only to reverse course. Move to the shoulders and the chest, but now she didn’t stop there. Now she went lower, the muscles of his stomach bunching under her fingertips while she traveled still lower, stroking her thumbs over the V of his lower stomach muscles which led to the pubic hair. Her hands stopped, but her eyes kept moving, taking in the thick cock which jutted upward, tempting her to use her hands once again.
“Is it my turn yet?” Merc’s words were rough and raw, and swallowing the minimal moisture in her mouth, she nodded her answer.
His warm, calloused hands settled on her shoulders, twisting in the thin straps of her camisole shirt before he slid them over her arms. The stretchy fabric slipped with ease from her body, and as the fabric fell beneath her breasts, exposing her now bare chest, he stopped all movement, his hands stilling as he took her in.
After a momentary hesitation, he reached out to feel her. Rough skin moved in gentle patterns over her body as he took the same route she had only moments before. He started at her wrist and went upward, the scrape of one fingernail against her inner elbow provoking an instinctive shudder through her. Those nimble fingers worked ever upwards, a scorching path that sent goosebumps prickling over every space he left.
His hand encircled her neck, his thumb stroking over the pulse point at the base of her throat, a pulse that was jumping in erratic rhythm as she stood here before him, bared and waiting for the continuation of this exploration.
Now his hand journeyed downward, knuckles dragging over the skin between neck and upper chest. At the upper slope of her breast he hesitated for a moment before continuing, using all four fingers to brush over the skin of her breast, circling the mound with several strokes before he pressed forward, molding it into his palm. He cupped her, both their breathing speeding up as the exploration went from tentative to more certain, more forceful. He didn’t take his eyes from hers, not even as he lowered his head and brought her breast to his mouth, taking control of her body in this new way.
His tongue was warm with the right amount of rough as it circled her nipple, and the easy bite of teeth had her bringing her hands to his head, fingers threading through his hair to keep him close, to keep that amazing mouth on her.
He acceded, bringing her in deeper, using that mouth harder and making her cry under the onslaught. Her skin would be marked and bruised, and a fierce disappointment hit that she wouldn’t see this when she woke, that the traces he left on her body would be gone when her eyes opened.
Pushing the unpleasant thought aside, she continued pulling him to her, a soft whine of disappointment escaping as he let up, only to sigh in pleasure as he switched sides, taking her other breast as he had the first.
All thoughts were drowned out by sensation, lost in a pleasant haze that enveloped her mind. Here, in this moment, it
was her and this beautiful man with his wicked tongue, and the heavy thump in the back of her mind was something she fought to ignore.
The beat was steady and deep, a bass rhythm that would not let her go. It was the drum of inevitability, of reality. The drumming that told her wakefulness was coming, and now was the time to act.
With desperate force Amana brought Merc’s lips to her own once again. If she could absorb him whole she would have at that moment. Instead she pressed herself against him so hard that, if his tattoos imprinted themselves on her, she would not be surprised.
Merc pulled away, his hands gentling her when she would have pushed into him again. “We have all night.” He ran his hands through her long hair, pushing it off her shoulders to stroke her bare skin again.
She clenched her teeth against the words, pushed her head into his chest. The bass pulsed louder, and it was over. It was now time to let this man go.
“You’re right.” She gentled her movements, stroked her hands over his chest again. “Lie down.”
He stiffened, though not for any sexual reason. His gaze went sharp as he took her in, zooming over her face to read her.
Damn. A little too much of what she was feeling leaked out in her words. Pulling herself together, she twisted her mouth into a tempting smile, biting her lip to draw his gaze. “Why are you making me wait?”
The hesitant look didn’t fade at once, but it did lessen, and his own smile returned as he walked backwards and reclined on the bed, every line of his body inviting her to join him.
She did, lowering herself over him, pushing them both back so they were secure on the bed, and kissing him once again, letting everything of herself into this kiss.
Amana wrapped her hands around his wrists and brought his arms overhead so his wrists lay against the headboard. She pulled away, looking down into those honey eyes, his black and red hair a tangle around his face.
Merc’s eyes shifted to the side for a moment, showcasing uncertainty, before he brought them back to her, and she closed her own, pressing her forehead against his. “Will you promise me something?” Nothing in the world could have stopped her voice from breaking.
He squirmed beneath her, unsettled but not breaking the contact between them. “What?”
One final time, she lowered her mouth to his skin, but this time she brushed her mouth over his cheek, the gesture without any sensuality behind it, only the feelings in her heart. “When you think of me in the future, think of me from that first night.”
“What?” Now he made a real effort to push up, but this time he was hampered not by her, but by the chains wrapped around his wrists which bound him to the bed.
Fury spiked across his face as he began to pull with such harsh jerks, she half-expected his shoulder to come loose from the joint. “What is this?” The pain on his face as he focused a glare at her speared through her heart and tore her in two. “What have you done?”
“It’s to save my brother. I never wanted to hurt you.” She was explaining. Why was she explaining? She needed to right her clothes and find the Spellbook and get on with her life, a life where he would never forgive her for what happened this night.
She forced down all worry over using her power, putting it behind a gate in her mind, and opened herself to locating the Spellbook. The power of the magic item was unmistakable, and in moments she took it from its place in the bedside table.
It looked like any other number of books that could be found in an old, musty library where the owners had more money than love of stories, and the books were chosen for price and title, not to be pulled out and read during long nights.
Merc said nothing more, did not pull at the chain, only kept his gaze fixed on her, rage written over every inch of his body.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want this.” The words tumbled from her mouth, not listening to the impulses of her brain that said stop, that Merc wasn’t listening to her anyway, and he’d never forgive her. “I’m sorry. It was for my brother.”
No sympathy crossed his features. The rage was being replaced by deadly calm and inviolate determination. “I’ll find you,” he warned, and his voice had her grasping the book closer for poor security. “You’re never going to get away from me.”
Amana woke up, the Spellbook crushed to her chest.
Chapter Nine
‡
Merc opened his eyes. He was chained, the same way he had been in the dream. His hands were bound to the headboard and his shoulders were tight with pain. He glanced to the bedside table, where there was an open drawer. Though he couldn’t see inside the drawer at this angle, there was no question in his mind if the Spellbook was there.
Magic pulsed from his skin, and in quick order the chains disappeared, leaving his arms free. He sat up, rolling his shoulders, wincing as the abused muscles and tendons screamed at him to stop, but pushing past the pain until his body quieted and the worst of the abuse was worked out of his system.
He made to rise from the bed, and only with the cool air over bare skin did he remember his nudity.
As if that reminder was a switch, the riot of emotions from last night swamped him. From the joy seeing her always brought to him to the thwarted desire, to her betrayal…
Merc raised his fist and punched through the wall of the downscale hotel, hoping the jarring of bone would prevent the reappearance of the sick rage in his gut when she moved away from his bound form, when she reached in and grabbed the Spellbook. Sorry she said. Brother. As if those two words could mitigate what happened.
He had given her his trust, the first person in his adult life he could say that about, and he hadn’t realized he had until she broke it.
You are not allowed emotion. You are not allowed rage. You are not allowed fear. You will cast these aside, and you will come out stronger for their loss.
Shisen’s teachings were not absolute to him – he and the old man disagreed about many things these days – but right now he pulled from the deep well of a lifetime of training and shoved everything she had pulled from him into a box to be buried deep.
There was later to deal with that. Right now was the situation at hand. The Spellbook needed to be reclaimed.
How had she managed to steal it? There was no magic he knew of that could get through his defenses and tie him up, and then was able to work within the dream to affect reality. It was powerful and completely outside his knowledge.
While for now the answer to that question was secondary, he needed to research as soon as the crisis passed. If it really was connected to dreams as it seemed to be, that left him defenseless in a way he’d never been before.
Until he discovered more, he needed to avoid REM sleep. It wasn’t pleasant, but he had often done with little to no sleep while on assignment. He could do it again.
The immediate concern was finding her. He knew nothing about her, save she burrowed into him with little more than a smile and the fragrance of the ocean clinging to her skin. Why did you open yourself?
Emotions sank themselves into him with barbed hooks. He pushed back, opening the box and kicking them to the side. He wouldn’t get lost in them, not even the pain that hovered like a malevolent fog. She’d burrowed into his heart, and his pride rose up in rage and rebellion that he’d been so fooled in such a small amount of time. Everything connected to her was unstable.
Push it down.
Yeah, and fucking bury that box.
Pride and ego had no place here. Only evidence mattered, and he opened his memories, abandoning the shadow of pain with ruthless efficiency.
Examine all evidence.
He had discounted it at the time, but it was only in their third meeting that his senses rose up and knocked against his heart, warning him something was wrong. He had ignored it, leaning on the false security of his tattoos and the pleasure being with her again provoked, but something in her manner set him on edge.
Was she after the book from the beginning? He wanted to say no, but e
very thought was tainted, seen through a shattered prism. He couldn’t trust the results.
That didn’t mean he could sit on his ass. He needed to start somewhere. Fear and indecision couldn’t paralyze him, not now.
He drew a deep breath, letting it expand through his chest and ease some of the tightness there. New plan. Any decisions he made tonight were to be marked with an asterisk, to be examined later when his gut wasn’t churning with this stew of emotion he still couldn’t quite control. Move forward.
No, she didn’t meet with him that first time with the intention of stealing the book. Whether that made him a stupid fool or not, he believed that. Her manner was too changed between the first and last meeting, and if she was a good enough actress to fool him the first and second time, why would she drop the mask the time she actually grabbed the book? And while the words didn’t assuage the betrayal, there was no doubting the emotion that infused every I’m sorry. And of course… brother.
Putting aside how they met in the first place, that change meant a third party got hold of her and started using her. The Guild was an obvious choice and the first one, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Hadrien had a habit of running his mouth in all the wrong places, so the possible candidates were large and stationed all over the world.
His best bet of snatching the book back was getting to her before an exchange took place. If he could find her before the rendezvous happened between her and whoever hired her, there was a chance of retrieving the book.
But where could she be? Near a beach would be the logical place to start, but her joy in her surroundings during that first meeting spoke of someone who was revisiting something well-loved but not experienced in a long time. He would bet money she was born and raised near the water, but not living there now.
The Dream Crafter Page 5