"You’re cold. Maybe you should’ve worn a jacket," he whispered into her soft fragrant hair.
"You'll warm her up fast," Staci giggled and waved on her way toward the stairs.
Ingrid waved back. “Thanks for everything, Staci.” She hugged Mack around the waist. “I think she’s my first girlfriend.”
“Staci’s the kind of person we all need as a friend. Sam, too.”
“They’ve loved each other since they met. It’s so romantic, right?”
“I suppose.” Mack didn’t feel he had any expertise to speak of in that department.
Ingrid stroked his face and asked, "When?"
Mack knew what she meant, so he told her. “The execution’s set for tomorrow at three p.m. at the arena in New Jersey.” Ticket prices ranged from five hundred for the nosebleed seats, to fifty thousand for close up. Premium channel viewer providers were in a bidding war over who'd carry the repeat broadcasts of the event—sure to be a ratings stealer. Mack figured the top executive who groveled the most would end up with the contract.
The two lovers clung to each other for several minutes without speaking. Their breathing and heartbeats had synchronized since their last reboot, as if they'd melded into one creature, newly born to this troubled planet. After sharing a sweet kiss, Mack and Ingrid shifted slightly apart.
The same foolish idea—one that would set them on a dangerous path—was spinning from his mind to hers and back, reflected in the glittering excitement seen in both sets of eyes. Their mouths curling at the corners, they spread a blanket on the floor by a large window and whispered their strategies, eventually forming a solid scheme.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
When they'd brainstormed and plotted until they were cross-eyed, Mack blew out the last candle, leaving the room bathed in only moon and starlight. He draped his arm over her shoulder, drawing Ingrid closer to his hard, comforting body.
"Are you tired, love?" He rubbed her bare arm with his rough fingers, her body shivering in response, coming awake at his touch. "Today was intense in so many ways."
Ingrid could only nod, unwilling to voice her fears over what they’d decided to do.
“It’s not your fault The Director took them.” He’d said it a dozen times, but she still wasn’t convinced.
“No, but it’s my fault we were forced to run. If I’d been like your last Ingrid, you’d all be happily performing for sold out crowds, eating Alan’s pancakes, comfortable in your own little house.”
“But still slaves.” He kissed her hard, insistent, leaning closer to touch foreheads and lock gazes. “We’d still be slaves if you hadn’t joined our troupe. Ask any of the others what life they’d rather be leading, and they’d all thank you for what you’ve done for us.
“Dave and Diane would’ve been a lot happier if nothing had ever changed. I’m responsible for that…that horror…” She gulped down a sob, struggling not to fall apart. Mack opened his mouth to disagree, but Ingrid stopped him with a hand on his chest. “It’s okay. I need to say it out loud. To own it.”
Mack brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm, holding it to his heart. “You’re the bravest, strongest person I’ve ever known.”
Her shoulders slumped as she whispered, "Unfuckingbelievable, right?” She wasn’t feeling that great about herself right now. “Sleep’s going to be hard to come by tonight. Wish I could turn off my brain.”
"Bet I can flick that switch to off.” At first his kiss was loving, warm and comforting, but as it continued, Ingrid realized how badly she needed to lose herself tonight, to be taken.
“Please.” She stood, drawing him with her. “Make me forget about tomorrow.”
Mack backed Ingrid up, both hands framing her hips, his mouth moving over cheeks and lips until his tongue found that sensitive spot behind her ear. He nibbled and nipped, the cool firmness of the wall against her back trapping her in the arms of the male she trusted more than any other.
He dropped to his knees, lifting the hem of her shirt, kissing her belly and planting kisses slowly down the fly of her shorts until he pushed his nose between her thighs. "You’re mine,” he rumbled, clutching her ass.
Her knees wobbled as he took in her scent, the action so erotic. “Mack…”
“Shhh. Don’t talk. Don’t think. Feel how I love you.” She obeyed, resting her hands on his shoulders, submitting gratefully. He removed her shirt and her bra, his warm fingers sliding over the skin of her stomach and breasts. He molded the soft tissue, rolling her nipples gently, then harder. Ingrid sighed, arching her body into his hands, her sex heating to soak her panties.
Mack’s fingers moved to the waistband of her shorts, unfastening the clasp and zipper, sliding them down, kissing the inside of her thighs, knees, and calves on the journey. The panties disappeared next, tossed beside the shorts.
He was on his knees, fully clothed in front of her naked body, and she was completely vulnerable to his power. Giving up control to Mack was her idea of heaven.
"You'll come when I say." His breath heated her vagina. She ached with lust and need, wanting more than anything to submit to her male. She’d bring him whatever pleasure he demanded to find her own.
"Yes." She didn’t recognize her own voice—husky with want.
"You're so beautiful." He forced Ingrid’s legs farther apart, kissing the tender, aching folds, pushing his tongue inside. She shivered, the sensation electric, the tightness in her lower muscles urging her to arch against his talented mouth. This was sex the way it was meant to be—between two people who desired each other, who loved each other. The glowing warmth Mack brought to her heart was as strong as the burning, lustful heat he spread throughout her body.
Her muscles twitched, ready to release. Ingrid panted, whimpering. He pulled away. "Not yet."
"Please...I need..." She squirmed in his grasp.
Two long fingers found her sweet spot within seconds. “Touch your breasts.” His voice had lowered to a sexy rumble.
Unable to resist his commands, she found her aching nipples, rolling and pinching them, sending tantalizing shocks to her center.
“Drop your shields,” he rumbled, the vibration against her clitoris weakening her knees.
"Oh, god..."
"Come for me, beautiful girl." And he sent her over, screaming and clutching at his hair as he continued to lick and tease and use his magical fingers until she'd stopped twitching, totally spent and feeling as if she'd walked through the pearly gates into orgasm heaven.
Somehow, Ingrid had ended up in his lap on the floor. His erection pressed into her ass through his jeans.
"Mattress," she purred, feeling wanton, her body still vibrating with aftershocks. "I'm not making love to you on this floor. At least, not until we get a cleaning crew in here."
He laughed and kissed her mouth gently, then whispered, "You'll fuck me where I say."
"That’s fine if you want dust up your butt, 'cause if we're on the floor, then I'm on top," Ingrid teased, still enjoying his bossiness.
"You're not behaving." He nibbled on her earlobe. “You’re supposed to submit.”
Ingrid leaned in and whispered against his ear. "You gonna try and punish me? I kinda got off on that the last time.”
He growled and stood in one smooth motion, holding her naked body against his fully clothed and aroused one. He tossed her onto the mattress as if she weighed no more than the pillow she landed beside. Mack rummaged around in her bag and pulled out the satin sash that went with her robe.
"Hold out your hands." His eyes were glittering with a lusty mischief she adored. Ingrid obeyed without hesitation.
Hands tied securely, he tilted his head closer. "To punish you, I'm going to make you come so many times, you'll lose count." To punctuate his statement, Mack drew Ingrid across his lap and whacked her on the butt a couple of times for good measure.
"Ow." She giggled at his idea of punishment, but oh, god, he was a magician. They fucked each other senseless, their loop
ed power blending, their bodies singing with magical pleasure. The sash had been used in a few very interesting ways, and Ingrid was surprised that Mack was so creative. Each time it had added some extra heat to their lovemaking, succeeding in distracting Ingrid’s mind from what was to come with the dawn.
Much later, they lay tangled together, their legs and arms so interwoven it was hard to figure out where one person started and the other ended.
Ingrid painted his swollen lips with a wet finger. "So what's my name, Trogg?"
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Celeste."
"Celeste...Celeste..." She tried it out, tasting it like a fine wine. "I like the sound of it, but why did you pick it?"
Mack stroked her face with such tenderness, more than she'd ever thought was possible between thetas. "Because you shine brighter than any of those stars I see you wishing on."
Ingrid glanced at him warily. "Are you joking with me, or do you mean it?"
"You can't tell?" He looked a little sad.
She sat and threw her arms around his neck. "I love it."
His kiss was a quick yet sweet exchange. "Marry me, Celeste." He whispered into her ear, his warm breath making her body tremble.
"What?" Ingrid was certain she couldn't have heard him propose.
"I want you in my life forever. Marry me."
He was squeezing her so tightly against his chest, her words were a little muffled. "You really want me? I mean, forever? With all my crazy ideas and schemes and...and tomorrow we might not..."
He pulled away, threading his hand in her hair, bringing her face only inches from his. "Say yes." His breath was warm and sweet against her cheek. "We can take our time to work it out."
His shining eyes spoke of love, truth, and a future she’d spent her life wishing for. "Yes!" Ingrid threw her arms around her future husband's neck and kissed him, adding some of her own axis magic as an extra affirmation. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
"Do you really like your name?" he asked, happier than he’d ever been in his life.
"Say it again. Make it sound sexy."
"Celeste." He'd lowered his voice to a growl. It was perfect.
"I don't want anyone else to ever say my name. Only you."
His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Maybe we need to sleep. Tomorrow will be..."
"But don't you want your name?"
"Will I like it?" He twisted up his mouth and winced. He was probably expecting something awful.
"Oh ye of little faith. I chose Dylan."
Mack propped himself on his elbow, so he could see her expression more clearly. "After the poet or the musician?"
"He was a Welsh hero of the sea. Some say he was a god." Mack laughed and Ingrid pouted, thinking he wasn't a fan of the name she’d chosen. "You said you like the sea."
"I do. It's the god thing that made me laugh."
"You fuck like a god," she said huskily.
That left him speechless for a moment, but he recovered quickly, whispering, "How many gods have you fucked?"
"Well, Thor was pretty hot, but…” He started to tickle her. “Wait…wait! I confess. You're the only one." Ingrid smiled at him, sending out her love with every breath that passed her lips.
He traced her cheek and lips with light fingertips. "Celeste." He whispered her name with reverence. "I love you."
"I love you, Dylan. Only you. Forever."
"I think I can die now," he teased, closing his eyes and relaxing beside her on the bed.
Snuggling against him as closely as possible, she said, "You'd better not, 'cause I'll find your ghost and make him listen to me complain for all eternity."
Mack and Ingrid laughed and kissed again, both of them understanding that this was the true beginning of their life together and that however long it lasted, making it to this moment was worth everything they'd lived through before.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
She'd said yes. Twice. The ceremony would be for everyone else. He was already hers. But it would have to wait.
They joined the others for breakfast. Someone had made coffee, bacon, eggs and toast, so the two lovers sat and forced themselves to eat, filling up with the protein they'd need later. Nothing tasted the way it should have, but sharing the meal together was a comforting ritual, something he and Celeste needed to get them through the rest of the day.
It was so easy for him to leave the Ingrid label behind and think of her as Celeste, a pet name he’d kept close to his heart for several days.
Gene overheard Dylan calling her by her new name and came over, looking curious. They explained and he grinned. "No shit? Great choices.”
“I couldn’t bear to be called Ingrid for one moment longer.”
“Let’s face it; you’ve never been an Ingrid.” Gene and Dylan exchanged grins.
“I was accused of that very thing by multiple PM’s.” She added another grin of her own.
“Never again.” Dylan kissed the edge of her mouth, licking away a morsel of scrambled egg that had tried to make a home beside those perfect lips. He would guard those lips with his life, even against her breakfast.
Gene winked at his former partner, striding away to another group of folding chairs and viewer trays, huddling with Alan and Tom who were already making plans regarding the tech set-up. Dylan was pleased to see that Gene was in good form, bursting with energy after their reboot yesterday afternoon.
“Where do you think we should set up?” Alan asked.
“For now, we can use a corner of my fifth floor loft.”
“Isn’t that going to infringe on your privacy?” Alan teased. They were close friends.
“Do you see any females knocking down my door? The two beautiful ladies who live here are taken, and the one who can’t decide what she wants would rather slit my throat than spend time with me.”
“You’re kidding, right? Liz has had the hots for you, since she was fifteen,” Tom said. “She tried to hide it from everyone, but I used to see her reading articles about you on her tab. She might say she hates troupers, but she’s had a crush on Gene Hudson since you first joined the troupe.”
“Yeah, well the reality never lives up to the fantasy, does it?”
“She’s overwhelmed by your magnificence,” Alan said with a wry smile.
“You ready?” Dylan asked Celeste.
“Ready for what?” Gene asked.
“Zone him out.” She rolled her eyes.
“Sorry. I forgot.” One of the things they’d worked on yesterday was focusing their mental banter to include only two minds, blocking the third. They could add in any others as needed, but sometimes privacy was a must—like today.
“I’m as ready as I can force myself to be,” she answered, shuddering.
“I’ll be there.” He rubbed her back, trying to offer what little comfort he could.
“I’m not frightened for myself. I don’t know if I can do it. I mean, I know I’m capable—it’s just…”
“I understand.”
Staci and Sam walked over. “Are you feeling well? You look pale, dear,” Staci pointed out with a worried frown.
Celeste forced herself to smile, adding a little glamour to convince Staci there was nothing wrong. “I’m fine. Didn’t sleep too well is all.”
Staci held up a sheet of paper. “Beds are on today’s list.”
“Hallelujah.”
Sam and Staci stood silently, as if they were waiting for Celeste to say more. After a few moments, Staci hugged her, speaking in a whisper. “Be careful.”
Straightening up, they said their goodbyes before heading out the door, looking eager to purchase more items for the building and the clinic. Everyone would be grateful to sleep in an actual bed once more, although sleeping on a tiny mattress with Dylan, pressed so tightly together to avoid rolling onto the floor, had its own appeal.
“What’s up?” Gene sprawled in a chair next to theirs.
“Nothing,” Celeste said, avoiding his gaze.
“Uh huh. Not convinced. You two will not do anything today without clearing it with me first.”
“Do you think we’re idiots? I’m not ending up as the next bloody spectacle on the viewer.” Celeste was pretty convincing, but Dylan wasn’t sure Gene was buying it.
“Mack?” Gene asked, his mouth edged with skepticism.
“Dylan. It’s Dylan now.” Celeste said.
“Sorry. Dylan?”
“We’re not going anywhere. We’re hanging around to help. Maybe I’ll even work out later.”
“Good. Tom’s bringing in a weapons expert tomorrow. The guy will be coming in regularly, to teach us how to fight with a blade and use a gun.”
“We don’t need…”
“We learn it all,” Gene said firmly. “You never know.”
Celeste and Dylan helped put away some of the supplies that were still laying around in the kitchen area, then killed time by playing two games of chess. Two hours later, Staci and Sam were back with assorted supplies, so as everyone else got busy setting up the clinic and putting together tables and chairs for the common area, Dylan and Celeste snuck out the backdoor, absconding with one of the vans and taking the Bayonne Bridge toward the arena.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
She’d stolen an ID from one of the guards who’d just arrived for duty, putting him to sleep in the back seat of his own car. Dylan did the same with a guard by the gate.
"Celeste, where the fuck are you?" Gene's furious voice cut through her thin veil without a hitch. She’d left it weak on purpose, feeling it was important to let him know they were okay, at least for now.
"Dylan and I’ve morphed into guards at the stadium. We’re going in.”
"You can't save them. Get your ass back here."
Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 Page 32