Playing God

by Lana Pecherczyk

  I wrapped my legs around him and our bodies touched at the most sensitive parts, still separated. I slid and ground against him, impatient, letting sparks fly in my body. Gods, he felt good. More. Now. No more waiting.

  He pushed gently, the tip of him asking permission.

  “Are you sure?” His voice was husky, broken.

  I reached down and guided him in. It had been too long since I’d been with someone. It was almost too much. I cried out.

  “Did I hurt you?” He hesitated, drawing out.

  “It’s okay,” I breathed and pushed toward him again, bringing him deeper.

  He cursed into my neck and slid in another inch, paused, then another, and another until he sheathed himself fully inside me. On exhale, his head dropped to my shoulder, teeth on my flesh. He squeezed my rear and circled his hips, groaning in appreciation. He moved, in, out, languidly, taking his time, holding me in his strong arms against the screen.

  My eager hips thrust to meet him with every painfully deliberate stroke he made. I needed—“More,” I demanded.

  On my skin, his lips curved in a smile. He ignored my followup whimper and kept himself slow, relishing. He shifted my weight to one arm and brought the other to my front, thumb reaching down to my sweet spot, rubbing gently, sending me insane. Yes. This was insanity. This slow, aching build of tension.

  “Cash,” I gasped. Both a plea and a warning. “Faster.”

  His hot, wet tongue explored my earlobe, my jaw, and then my lips. I gripped his hair and pulled tight. His essence trickled through our contact. It tickled mine, teasing, probing. I shot mine back, invigorating him, urging him on. But he dipped his tongue into my mouth with the same leisurely rhythm as his hips. Bastard. Where was his heat? The passion. The raw, powerful energy I’d seen so much in him. He was being too gentle. Too careful. I wanted more. All of him. No holding back. I caught his tongue and sucked, eliciting a suppressed groan from deep in his throat.

  The glass behind me creaked with our force; the heat beyond making it weak.

  “Shit.” He stopped, panting, hands supporting me from underneath. The strain of holding my weight pulled every muscle in his body taut. His face flushed pink and adorable, dazed. I wiggled, wanting more. He cursed again. Another creak behind me. He grunted. “Glass will break. Open the shower door.”

  I reached out with my power. The door to my side telekinetically opened. Captive steam puffed out and he rushed us inside until my back pushed through the hot stream to land against the cooler tiles. Oh God, that sharp shock of temperature.

  Water cascaded down his body. Rivulets ran over every crevice and sinewy mound of flesh… it drove my heart into hyper-drive. I couldn’t get enough of him. I touched him everywhere. Everything inside me ached for him to go faster. Now, Cash. Now. Sensing my urgency, he moved with more lust, more drive and speed until I felt that sweet pressure build again.

  “Cash…” I was helpless to do anything but hold on to him. “I’m going to…”

  “Yes,” he said—grunted.

  Tightness coiled at my center, pulling and growing at the same time.

  “Roo.” He thrust, demanding.

  I clamped down on his shoulder, biting down, about to explode, and then erupted around him, screaming his name, fighting for breath. My skin was on fire, my lungs burned, my vision went white. I clung to his shoulders for dear life.

  He kissed my neck while the stars fell around me, and my legs weakened with aftershocks, then he plunged one last relentless time.

  “Fuck.” His body grew tight, his shoulders tensed, his torso stiffened. He shuddered, breaking inside me.

  Cash’s hold underneath me weakened, and my legs slid to the floor, supporting myself once again. I stroked his hair gently as he rested against me, catching his breath.

  “Are you okay?” He ran his fingers down my front.

  A sigh was all I could manage, and the sound of running water was all I could hear as we held each other close. Then he drew me off the wall. Wet, his long lashes clumped together. His cheeks flushed, and his lips were just-kissed-swollen. I could only imagine what I looked like.

  “Let me wash you,” he said, reaching for a bottle of body wash in the caddy. While he squeezed a small amount onto his palm, for the first time, I noticed a slight discoloring on his torso under the ribs.

  “What happened?” I touched a dark spot.

  He sucked in a breath, abdomen pulling tight. “From our training.”

  I gasped. “I did that?”

  He lathered up and placed his hands on my collarbone where he massaged the slippery suds over my body with severe concentration, taking special consideration at the knots in my shoulders. I almost forgot what I had been saying.

  “Cash,” I prompted. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. Just healing slower than I’d like to admit. I want to wash your hair. Turn around.” Without waiting, he rotated me by the shoulders until I faced the wall. He tugged me back against him until the hot stream hit my head and ran down my back.

  Gently, he pushed me out of the stream, put shampoo on his hands and rubbed my scalp in slow, orgasmic, circular strokes. Heaven. This must be what heaven felt like. My eyelids drifted closed, and I swayed. My hands shot out to steady myself against the tiles. What was I saying?

  “Roo. You’re tired. Let’s get you out. Another big day tomorrow.” He rinsed my hair then turned the faucet off.

  “Cash, I’ve never felt better.”

  Ignoring my answer with a smile, he wrapped a towel around me, then himself. He picked me up and cradled me in his arms as he walked to the bed.

  The last thing I remembered was the sound of the ocean singing me to sleep as his strong arms pulled me into his warm embrace. I thought, I’ll never go cold again, and, this was a moment I’d like to repeat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SOFT LIPS ON my neck woke me from my sleep haze.

  “Roo, wake up.”

  “Mm.” I opened my eyes to Cash’s gorgeous face staring down at me.

  I grinned, licked my lips and eyed him off suggestively.

  A solitary eyebrow lifted over his amused eyes. “As much as I’d like to entertain that thought I see flittering in your eyes, we have to get moving.”

  But I drew him close and kissed him. His heavy body melted into me for a tiny minute then he pushed back. “Tonight. I promise.”

  When he walked away, I registered he was fully clothed. “What’s so important?”

  “Your second trial. Five am start, remember?”

  I sat up sharply, pulling the blankets to cover myself. “Already?”

  He nodded. “I let you sleep as long as I could. You needed your rest.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Shit, shit, shit. How much time do we have?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  Adrenaline pumped in my veins and I surged out of bed to search my suitcase for suitable attire.

  “What do you want for breakfast, bacon and eggs?” Cash called from the kitchen.

  “Sweet mother of Prince, I’m never leaving here. You treat me like a queen.”

  His silence expanded awkwardly. What did I say? Prince? I meant the musician. Maybe he thought I meant the evil one. Or was it… Oh. Queen. Idiot.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, thinking of his interstellar ex-girlfriend. “She must have done you over good.”

  “She did. But I’m with you now.” His head poked back around the open doorway. He pointed at some clothes on the end of the bed. “Wear those.” Then he left again.

  What he said hit me.

  He’s with me.

  As in… are we, really? A flash of our hot, steamy shower entered my mind. The feel of his hard body next to mine. The smell of him. The taste of him. I pulled a strand of knotty hair in front of my face and sniffed the residual shampoo scent. I smiled, falling back into the pillows and curling my toes. Yes. I’m with him and he’s with me.

  He called my name from the kitchenett
e.

  Shit. Trial. I dressed in the pair of black yoga pants and racer back top, then shoved on my joggers, tied my hair into a hasty bun and followed my nose.

  In the kitchen, Cash’s mood had soured. His posture was tense, and he prodded the bacon with discontent. I shouldn’t have mentioned her. The infamous, demanding queen, always finding a way to leech into our lives. I disliked her already.

  “Here,” I said and nudged him aside from the sizzling pan. “Let me take over. You’ve looked after me enough. Sit.”

  He didn’t sit. He stood behind me and slipped his hands around my waist, nuzzling into my hair. “You smell good. I could get used to this.”

  I smiled. “Me too. It’s almost—”

  “Domestic?” He gave a short laugh through his nose.

  “I was going to say, too good to be true, but… that’ll do.”

  “Don’t get used to it. Our lives aren’t our own, we’ll be on the road soon enough.”

  I pushed the eggs around for a bit. “Cash?”

  “Mm?”

  “I’m sorry I ruined the mood by bringing her up. Do you want to talk about it?”

  He tightened his embrace, but said nothing.

  “Okay,” I said. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’ll just remove the foot from my mouth and we can carry on.”

  “It just that…” He paused.

  I held my breath, hoping he’d continue.

  “I knew there was something wrong,” he said, “and I didn’t listen to my instincts. I let her convince me she knew what she was doing that everything was okay. I should’ve stood my ground, but I didn’t, and in the end, we lost everything. Now I’m here, together with you, and I have the chance to start over… I don’t want to ruin it.”

  I turned in his arms to find pain flickering behind his eyes. My heart broke.

  He focused on me with grave concentration. “When you told me you would stay with Urser, I let you go against my better judgment. It won’t happen again. You’re coming back here after the trial. Don’t even think about arguing.”

  I gently pressed my lips to his. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yup.” Bacon popped in the pan and I turned back to it.

  Cash squeezed my hips in a show of solidarity, then let go. He held out two plates, and I dished up in silence, brain caught on a kernel of foreboding. Twice someone tried to kill me, and twice The Others took over. I wasn’t any closer to getting them out of me than I was days ago. In fact, it was getting worse.

  Kill myself multiple times in a controlled environment, was Lena’s suggestion. Maybe she was right. I should book in an appointment with her as soon as the trials are over.

  Cash placed our plates at the dinner table, and I was about to join him when I spied the lonely pot plant on the coffee table. It looked a little better than yesterday. I quickly retrieved it and placed it between us at the table, then poured some water from my glass into the plant. Its leaves immediately perked up, and I sensed from its tiny life-force that it was grateful. I shook my head. Must be imagining things. How could a plant talk to me?

  When I looked up at Cash, he was watching me with an odd look.

  “What?” I said.

  “Nothing. You just reminded me of… never mind. Eat your breakfast.”

  We ate our food. Me savoring my bacon, eying the plant proudly, Cash shoveling his meal into his mouth.

  “Do you know what the second trial involves?” Cash asked when his plate was clean.

  “The first is the written component, the second is the physical, and the third is the practical. But that’s all I know.”

  “Right, well, we’ve done all we can in the time given for your physical training. You’ll also be demonstrating your abilities with another contender. Let’s hope you’re paired with a non-powered Nephilim. Hurry and finish your meal.”

  I spooned eggs into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. “See, this is where this game gets confusing. We’re tested on our abilities, but we can’t use them in public. What’s the point?”

  “You’re forbidden to let humans discover your skills, but you can use them on each other. This is to demonstrate what your skills are to the Tribunal—a way for them to catalog your abilities so they can keep track of you in the real world.”

  “Won’t we risk hurting everyone in the crowd?”

  “There’s a trans-astral portal that protects every one.”

  “You said the trans-what now?”

  “It uses the same technology as the windows in the rooms, but samples a physical space,” he explained. “The contenders move to another location we can see, but can’t be affected by. Kind of like a mechanical version of what Marc does. It can never go far though, a few hundred kilometers. Don’t worry about that. What’s going on in the background is of greater significance.”

  “Like what?” I moved the food around my plate, suddenly not hungry anymore.

  “Testing competing Houses for weakness. Picking off your competition. Gambling.”

  “You can die in this trial?”

  His grim face was my answer.

  While we walked through the Ludus halls to the training arena, Cash drilled me on appropriate expectations.

  “They all think you’re a Soul-Eater, so let it stay that way.”

  I bit my lip, stifling my protest. Waiting for Marc was proving harder than I anticipated. How could I truly live up to my destiny—whatever it was—if I didn’t know who I was? But I said I’d wait. So I would.

  “We can explain any other powers,” he continued, “that surface from your true self as being something you’ve absorbed. When it comes time to show off your abilities, just keep that in mind. Only give them enough to be satisfied. We’re not in this for the betting, we don’t care who wins, we just want to stop Urser from destroying this world. And survive.”

  I remembered the list I wrote on my arm. “And live,” I added.

  He looked askance at me. “That’s what I said.”

  One day, I planned to show him what I meant by living, not just surviving. Last night was a perfect example. I felt whole with him. And not just in the biblical sense. We were two opposing ends of a magnet snapping together. Over and over again. In the shower, on the bed—liquid heat shot to my core and my face echoed a flush. How quickly my thoughts derailed around him.

  Cash stopped walking and blocked me with an arm, halting me. I bumped into his solid body. He stared down at me, consternation on his face.

  “Stop it,” he said. “You need to concentrate on what I’m telling you.”

  “I am.”

  “I can smell your mood, Roo. I know what you are thinking.” He folded his arms. It only served to make him look even more desirable. He wore a similar shirt as yesterday. It stretched nicely across his chest, showing off his manliness.

  I fought back a smile and stared at my feet.

  A sound something like a grunt came out of him. “What did I say?”

  “Uh, that I should fly under the radar.”

  “Right. That’s close enough. Come on.” He touched my arm lightly to spur us onwards. “As long as you don’t die, you can’t fail this trial. Even if you lose the sparring match, you still get let into the Game, so just take it easy.”

  “That, I can do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A DOORMAN MARKED our arrival to training arena as we entered. He gave us a paper program that held the order of proceedings and directed us to preordained seats—down the front and to the right. Row one, seats four and five.

  A group of people chanted “Carpé Ludus” and I cringed. Seize the Game.

  Sports were never my thing in school. I was more likely to be found in the bathroom stalls sharing wine from our vineyard with my troublesome friends. Anything to get the attention of my absentee father. It never worked. These days, I did everything in my power to avoid his attention.

  We made our way down the concrete steps to where the numerous training mats had been
removed, and an enormous central one replaced it. To the far side sat a bench with five empty seats in front of it. That must be the Tribunal’s panel. Spectators filed into the stadium, nicely filling it up. From all the pre-game chanting and laughing going on, obviously this trial was a favorite. Except for me.

  Sweat prickled my skin.

  “How many do you think are here?” I whispered to Cash.

  “About fifty or so, but my guess is it will fill to around a hundred.”

  “Whoa. Good turn out.”

  “The trials and the Libertine Ball are the events of the decade for each nation’s Ludus. All the Watchers around the country come.”

  “Every decade?” I asked.

  “There are smaller events and trials, like the one I was in a few years ago. But this particular trial coincides with the breeding program.”

  “Are you saying I might have a ten-year-old sister or brother around?”

  “It’s possible. But, stop thinking of them as your siblings. They’re not. And children aren’t allowed into the Ludus. They can’t keep it secret. That’s why Nephilim aren’t inducted into the Game until they mature. Here we go.”

  We’d made it to our seats.

  Like a gentleman, Cash stood back so I could enter the row first. We passed three strangers and then found our empty seats. Next to those sat Bruce. Next to him was Lincoln and then Ava with the rest of Epsilon House, including the mega douche-bag who spiked my soup with cyanide. My father glanced up from reading his paper program.

  “You appear to have made a miraculous recovery.” The tone of his voice suggested the attack on my life was more like an illness, or a common cold. Something a bit of rest and relaxation could fix.

  “Not too shabby for the second attempt on my life, right father dearest? This meat-suit is getting a thrashing. At this rate, you’ll have nothing left to marry off.”

  Anyone within earshot gasped.

  Nerves jangled in my body. My mouth went dry and wouldn’t work. Perhaps that was too much.

  Bruce narrowed his eyes but didn’t say a word. No way in hell he’d sit there calmly when I’d spent the night away from his apartment. He was up to something.