Mind Game

by Christine Feehan

Dahlia did laugh then, a genuine laugh. The sound carried out over the bayou, taking with it some of the terrible pressure in her body. "Are you trying to challenge me? Goad me into some kind of he-man competition? That is such a juvenile male thing. Women, real women do not have to prove anything to men. We already know we're the superior gender." She stepped away from him and moved across the roof with her easy, sure steps.

  As always, Nicolas marveled at her balance. She turned her head and smiled, a particularly mischievous smile that turned his entire body rock hard and his insides to mush.

  He would never get used to the effect she had on him, but it was growing on him. He could live with it. In fact, as long as he didn't have to admit it, he liked it.

  She somersaulted off the edge of the roof and landed like a cat on her feet, already running through the lush vegetation. She was small and light, barely skimming the ground as she ran, fitting onto a narrow path that would be difficult for his much larger and heavier frame.

  "That's taking unfair advantage!" he called after her, leaping from the slope of the roof to the ground.

  He followed her through the swamp, pacing himself, careful not to catch up, but close enough to keep her in sight. He loved the effortless way she ran. The smooth fluid motion and the lightness of her feet. Within minutes he was watching the sway of her bottom, the way the material of her jeans stretched tight across her buttocks, cuddled and framed her flesh. He'd never forget that first glimpse of her naked butt, just the briefest sight, but it had been enough to bring on a million fantasies.

  Nicolas ran behind her and thought about the curve of her hip. Her smooth, flawless skin beneath the jeans. He closed his hands into tight fists, imagining sinking his fingers into her, kneading her bottom, pulling her tightly against him. It was becoming much more difficult to run as with each step his body seemed to harden into one long ache, but his mind refused to give up the erotic images. Every fallen log he ran by he visualized draping her over and driving into her over and over again. The sunlight would gleam over her skin, and he'd watch the way they joined so perfectly together.

  He groaned aloud as his erection grew heavier, pushing tightly against the material of his jeans and rubbing uncomfortably. He felt the merest brush over his skin, as if a butterfly had slipped into his jeans and landed on his penis. The wings seemed to flutter over the sensitive head, skimmed the long root, and then warm breath engulfed him, warm, moist heat and a tongue lapping.

  He staggered, halting instantly, grabbing the nearest tree for support. Laughter floated back to him. Dahlia turned, standing in the sunlight, rays scattering all around her, lighting her face, her smile, her tongue, as she wet her lips and threw her head back in a sultry invitation. Her black eyes laughed at him. Challenged him.

  "Come here." He couldn't go to her. He couldn't walk.

  "I don't think so," she answered and turned and ran, leaving him swearing and aching and more in need than ever.

  He took a step. Her tongue dipped and stroked. He felt it. It was impossible to walk with his body nearly bursting through his jeans. The zipper hissed down and relief was instantaneous. He wrapped his fist around his painful erection and stood waiting for her next move. He felt her teeth nibbling. His body jumped under his hand. Two could play at mind games. And he was fairly certain he was an expert at fantasies.

  He pictured her spread out in front of him, her body open to him, little moans escaping from her throat. His mouth was already busy at her breast, hot and strong and moist, laving her nipple and taking tiny bites until she shifted helplessly and her moans increased.

  "That's not fair!" She stood a few feet from him, her hair tumbling down in a silken cascade. She was breathing heavily and both hands cupped her aching breasts.

  "Open your shirt."

  "I'm not opening my shirt. It will only encourage your little breast fetish."

  His eyes were on her hands. She moved her palms over her nipples, trying to relieve the ache. He looked up at her face. She was intent on following the stroke of his hand, wrapped around his erection. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lower lip. His body took on a life of its own, nearly jumping out of his hand. "Come here, Dahlia," he said again. "I need you."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nicolas was pure temptation, a devil standing there with his sinful smile and his dark, mesmerizing eyes. How could she possibly resist him? His reaction to their little game was enormous. And enticing. She took a step toward him, drawn in spite of herself.

  "Unbutton your shirt. I want to look at you."

  His voice was so husky, so raw with hunger, a shiver went down her spine. He wasn't in a playful mood anymore, and it showed in the lines of passion etched so clearly into his face.

  Dahlia slipped each button free and allowed the shirt to gape open so the sun could caress her breasts. She cupped the weight of them in her hand, feeling achy and tight and swollen. But her gaze remained on his enormous erection and the drop of moisture glistening in anticipation of her compliance. She took another step toward him.

  "Take off your jeans."

  She swallowed a sudden spiraling fear, but slowly did as he ordered. She pushed the jeans from her hips and down her legs, stepping out of them. She wore nothing underneath. She watched his breath quicken. Saw his hand tighten, glide smoothly up and down once, twice, in an effort to get relief. Dahlia reached down with one hand and snagged her jeans as she walked to him. "What exactly do you want?"

  She walked close enough that her hair slid over the sensitive head of his erection as she dropped the jeans at his feet.

  "Take off your shirt. I want to see you."

  Without a word she allowed the shirt to slip to the ground. Her hands covered his, slid lower to cup and squeeze his tight sac gently. She allowed her palms to slide over his hips and thighs as she knelt on the jeans in front of him.

  Nicolas felt his breath slam out of his lungs, leaving him burning for air. Her mouth slid over him, hot and moist and as tight as a fist. Her tongue danced along his ultrasensitive rim, sending shivers of excitement down his spine and flames burning through his bloodstream. She had taken his fantasy right out of his head, all his thoughts as he'd run behind her, and now she was putting them into action. Her mouth was a miracle of heat. He flung out a hand to find an anchor but could only bury his fingers deep in her hair, urging her on while his hips began to follow the rhythm she set.

  His teeth clenched and every muscle tightened. His blood sang and his heart pounded. The bayou came alive around him, dancing with sparklers, tiny stars of brilliant colors, and the electricity zigzagged in an arc as the sexual energy gathered to them, amplifying their every sensation. His fingers skimmed the sides of her breasts, went back to her hair as she performed an amazing dance with her tongue and then suckled as if he were an addicting confection.

  Nicolas had never felt such a combination of savagery and love at the same time. A part of him was aware the energy influenced him, but very little of his brain seemed to function. He could only feel--and need. He knew he was being rough when he dragged her closer to him, wanting her to take him deeper, but he couldn't seem to stop. She tantalized and tormented him and the more she did, the more the terrible pressure built until he was certain every part of him would detonate.

  He could hear animal sounds, a growling deep in his throat. He wanted the heat of her surrounding him. She was driving him over the edge and wasn't nearly finished with him. He tugged at her hair, a small painful pull, exerting pressure on the roots. Even the silken strands in his fists felt erotic. She looked up at him, licked her lips, as he pulled her easily to her feet. His hands slid over her body. He enjoyed the fact that he was so much bigger, that his palms could cover larger sections of skin. He kneaded her breasts, bent his head to find her mouth, taking possession, not giving her a chance to catch up to his hunger. He nibbled at her mouth, a craving for her taste nearly driving him out of his mind. The pressure in his body, driving upward from his toes to his skull was
enormous. He opened her thighs, using his legs so his hand could slide over her flat stomach to the mass of tiny curls. He found them moist with heat.

  She was steamy for him. Waiting for him. He knew how she would feel when he entered her. He craved the hot, slick wetness. His fingers pushed into her channel. She cried out his name, her breath coming in gasps. He pushed deeper, forcing her to ride, wanting her to be at the same fever pitch as he was.

  Only when she was gasping, her body rocking and tightening, wave after wave, did he look around to spot the nearest fallen log. Fortunately it was only a foot away. He half carried her, throwing her shirt over the log and bending her over it so the curve of her bottom was thrust upward for him. The sun lit up her skin. He stared down at her, kneading her flesh, rubbing his erection along the seam of her perfect cheeks. Her channel was hot and slick and he nuzzled it lovingly. She pushed back, trying to get him to enter her, but he held on, prolonging the moment, enjoying the friction and the sight of the moisture on her skin. He felt a primitive lust building and building and just as wild was the need to know she was his. He had no idea if it was a by-product of the energy or his ancestors, or his bloodline, but there was nothing sweet or gentle in his hunger for her, his addiction to her body or his need to know she belonged to him heart and soul.

  He wanted that first moment of entry, as he thrust hard, as he took her with his hands on her hips and her hair spilling around her and her breasts jutting toward the ground, to last forever. Her sheath swallowed him, so tight he grit his teeth. He could bury himself deeper this way, thrust harder, driving into her over and over with long, fast strokes while she bucked and cried out and her muscles clenched and grasped at him. The energy poured over them both until every nerve ending and every cell was alive and wired into erotic passion.

  Once he looked up and thought he saw a lightning bolt arcing in the clouds overhead, but nothing mattered but her hot silken sheath squeezing and rubbing with a velvet friction so tight he knew he would never last as long as he needed to be sated. He pulled her back toward him with each stroke, riding her hard and furiously, wanting to crawl inside her body and join them together forever. If there truly was ecstasy in the world, Nicolas knew he'd found it. He pounded into her soft body, and she shoved back just as hard, crying out with pleasure, completely uninhibited with him. She wanted him with the same fierce intensity and she never tried to hide it.

  Caught up in the maelstrom of sexual energy, they were wild and frantic. Taking Dahlia was as necessary to Nicolas as breathing. He couldn't begin to think or function until he sated the terrible hunger, the emptiness he felt. He took a deep breath, the gathering before a storm, as he felt her body tighten around his. He felt the muscles of her body surrounding him tightly grasp him, greedy for every drop of his passion. Greedy for every sensation he could give her. He was burning out of control, everything in him concentrated in his groin. Thunder was in his head, pounding in his ears. And then he was pouring his seed into her, hot and strong and deep. His hips thrust hard over and over into hers, driving deeper, wanting to be forever a part of her.

  Gasping for air, Nicolas bent over her, resting his head on her back while their hearts pounded with the same ferocity with which they'd made love. He didn't want to leave the sanctuary, the paradise of her body. As many times as he'd taken her--and it was many now--each time seemed better than the perfection of the time before. He pressed a kiss to the base of her spine as he eased his body from hers. "I love the way you play mind games, Dahlia. Feel free to indulge any time."

  He was the only thing holding her up. Dahlia was almost euphoric, yet her body well used, deliciously sore. She could feel his prints on her skin, his mark deep inside her body. She doubted if she would ever be whole without him. She rested against the fallen tree while his hands massaged her bottom and sent more ripples through her deepest core. After such a firestorm of frenzied lovemaking, she felt she needed the easier deep contractions to come down from wherever she was floating.

  Slowly she turned and leaned back against the log. "Why is it I never seem to have my clothes on around you?"

  Nicolas bent his dark head to hers. "Because I love to look at you." He framed her face with his hands and held her still for his kiss. He made it loving and tender, a direct contrast to the wildness of his lovemaking. "Not only do I love to look at you, Dahlia, but I love to hear the sound of your voice. And I love your expressions. I have the feeling I've already fallen in love with you, that I'm in way over my head."

  Dahlia stared up at him, blinking rapidly, feeling as if her heart stopped in midbeat. She was naked and vulnerable and he was declaring his love to her. "Don't love me, Nicolas. Don't do that."

  "I think it's too late, honey. I think I fell like the proverbial tree."

  She shook her head. Her breasts swayed, drawing his immediate attention. At once he brought his hands up to cup the slight weight in his palms. His thumbs feathered back and forth gently over the peaks, sending streaks of lightning through her body. Her womb tightened again. He was going to give her another orgasm by just touching her. She shivered beneath his caressing hands while her body rocked with pleasure.

  "I could get used to you." She could barely manage to get the words out.

  "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Just don't break my heart, Dahlia. I've never handed it over to anyone before."

  She placed both hands over his. "I've never had anyone's heart. I don't know the first thing about keeping hearts. You're taking a terrible risk."

  "That's what I do best." He took the shirt from the fallen log and shook it out, held it for her so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. "Are you feeling relaxed now?" He pulled the edges of the shirt together and buttoned it up.

  "I was until you started throwing around the L-word. That's enough to scare anyone." His knuckles brushing her breasts were enough to send her body throbbing all over again. And maybe she was far more relaxed than she thought because her legs were rubbery and threatening to give out on her.

  Nicolas zipped up his jeans and retrieved hers, carefully shaking them out, slapping at the material to remove the dirt. "This role reversal has to stop. I'm the man and you're the woman. Women love to hear the L-word. It's been that way for centuries. Don't muck up the proper order of things."

  "Is there some sort of guidebook for relationships?" she asked curiously. "I've never seen an actual relationship. Jesse never mentioned a girlfriend, and Milly and Bernadette never talked about men. I think they thought if they did it would upset me."

  "Why would that be?" Nicolas watched her shimmy into her jeans. There was something very feminine about the way she put on her clothes. He could watch her dress and undress forever.

  "Because I'd never have a boyfriend, of course."

  "I've always thought that was such a stupid word. Boyfriend. Aren't we adults? And that sounds so insipid. I'm much more than your boyfriend."

  "You are?"

  He caught her hand and dragged her close to him. "You know damn well I am." He caught the glint of humor in her eyes and laughed with her. It felt good. The last of the energy dispersed, lifting the weight from Dahlia's shoulders.

  "Just how far do you plan to take this whole relationship thing, Nicolas? Because if you're thinking of going much further, I definitely need a manual of some kind."

  "I'm taking it all the way. You won't need a manual, because I can supply all the answers." He grinned at her as he started back along the path to the cabin.

  Dahlia sent him a quick smile and concentrated on the sensations of what they'd just shared together. She knew how draining it was living every day with the surging energy. It could come at the most unexpected and unwanted times, simply by a brief spurt of anger or melancholy as she was feeling now. When she was with Nicolas, reality seemed to slip away, and for a few brief moments she could believe that they would be together, that she could live a seminormal life. The moment the real world intruded, truth hit her hard. Already apprehension at
facing all of the men was growing with each step she took toward the cabin. She knew Nicolas thought her undisciplined, but to marshal one's thoughts and emotions every waking minute was nearly impossible.

  "How do you keep your emotions so under control, Nicolas? Even when you're doing things that have to bother you?" She glanced up at him to make certain her question hadn't upset him.

  "I don't do anything unless I believe it is necessary. If it's necessary then there's no reason for me to be bothered by it. The universe has a natural order. I do my best to flow with it and not try to control things outside of myself. The truth is, control is a myth. You can't control another person or even an event. You can only control yourself. So that's what I do. If it becomes necessary to go out on a mission and a job has to be done, I do it. There's no reason to complicate it with unnecessary emotion."

  "And you can do that?" Some of what he said made sense, but she had to admit some of it bothered her. "If you'd been sent here to kill me would you have done it?"

  "I wouldn't have come unless someone gave me a damned good reason, Dahlia. You've never done anything to warrant a death sentence."

  She rubbed at her forehead where the aftermath of her headache still lingered. "I'm glad I don't have to make those decisions. I suppose there's a sort of safety in having the psychic abilities I have. I can't deliberately cause harm to someone without severe, immediate retribution. I know they wanted to train me as a weapon, but I couldn't do all of the things necessary. For all the problems mine might cause, I guess it saved me from having to make decisions I might not want to make."

  "Did you enjoy learning martial arts?"

  "Yes." Dahlia could hear the sound of hammers and saws ringing through the bayou as they got closer to the cabin. Her stomach tightened. She drew a deep, steadying breath and continued walking with him as if she didn't hear a thing.

  "Good. I have a beautiful dojo in my home. You'll enjoy it."

  "For some reason, I had the impression all of you stayed with Lily at her house."

  "We do temporarily. She was generous enough to open her home. Whitney added special walls to help keep out sound and better protect Lily. We train there, conducting exercises to strengthen the barriers in order to permit us to stay out in the world without anchors for longer periods of time. We all have our own homes. Mine is in California up in the mountains. I have several acres, and the gardens are beautiful. I have a crew maintaining the property while I'm gone."