by Amy Sumida
I smiled as I slid a hand sensually down the microphone stand and lowered my gaze. I could still feel the heat of his stare on me. These were my last few minutes of freedom, and I intended to use them well. My hand shifted to my thigh; sliding up the silk and revealing even more skin as if it were an accident. The crowd barely noticed—they were entwined around each other; grinding and kissing, and groaning—but Slate saw it. I glanced up through my lashes and watched his hands lift; clenching and reaching for me. He placed one palm on the window as his shoulders started to rise and fall with heavy breaths. From the cool Zone Lord, that was practically a shout of arousal.
I smiled wickedly to myself and danced through the last of the song. The warning had become a promise of bondage and pain. Not for me, but him. And I wouldn't have to lift a finger; it would be Slate that destroyed himself if he didn't stay away from me.
As my voice faded and the music followed me, I eased back into the shadows of the stage. I didn't wait for applause—though it came in a crashing wave—I had received my accolades already. Those beneathers had been mine. For every drumbeat— every word—they had belonged to me.
And so had Slate Devon.
I caught my breath as I eased down the stairs, and Eli hurried up to help me. The damn stilettos were a bitch.
“That was bloody amazing!” Eli declared. “I've never seen anything like it. You had them eating out of your hands.”
“Thank you,” I whispered and stumbled.
Okay, maybe it wasn't just the heels. Three hours of singing right after fighting a dybbuk was too much even for my immortal ass. I needed a nap like a three-year-old after playtime. Damn; had that fight only been this morning? It felt like forever ago.
“Ms. Tanager?” Eli reached for me, but he wasn't the one who caught me.
“Slate?” I whispered in surprise. When had he gotten there?
“I've got you, sweetheart,” he whispered back.
“I think I may have overdone it,” I murmured.
“Oh, you most certainly did, but I enjoyed every moment of it.”
I fell asleep in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I was so comfortable. The bed was soft beneath my body; cradling me. Banning laid beside me; his warmth drawing me closer. I must have fed him before we'd gone to bed. I felt his sleekly muscled chest beneath my cheek; the ripples of his solid stomach spreading downward. I sighed sleepily and let my hand wander in that direction. His stomach twitched as I slipped my hand in his boxer shorts and around his shaft. It was already hard; full of hot blood. Pulsing with it. I rubbed the velvet skin; my thumb circling the tip. Eagerly anticipating the drop of moisture that would soon appear. I groaned happily when it did and rubbed it into him.
“Elaria,” he groaned.
But his voice was different. I frowned. This wasn't Banning. Was it Torin? No. Darc? I turned my head up and it all came rushing back.
“Slate,” I whispered in horror as I jerked away.
Slate's eyes turned molten as he followed my movement; covering my body with his.
“Slate! I'm sorry. I was sleeping,” I stammered. “I thought you were someone else.”
All that came out of Slate's throat was a growling sound of raw desire. He shoved my legs apart and settled himself between them.
“Slate!” I shoved at his shoulders but his attention was on my breasts and my sex.
Slate sucked at my nipples through my bra as he pushed his shaft against me. He paused just for a moment when he realized that I was wearing underwear. With a ferocious snarl, Slate lifted a hand and shifted it into a taloned claw. I gasped as he shoved that claw between us and sliced the sides of my panties. Another quick shift and his hand was back to normal; pulling my panties away. His cock pressed up against me; rubbing my sex in a way that tore a groan from my throat.
“Please don't do this,” I whispered. “Slate! Snap out of it! If you make me betray my lovers I will fucking slice your balls off!”
Slate's whole body shuddered as he angled his stare up to mine. I froze as the bones beneath his skin moved like water. He was a second away from shifting; his whole body trembling as he held himself rigidly above me. With what appeared to be a herculean effort, he lifted an arm from the bed and pointed it at a nearby door.
“Get in there and lock the fucking door!” His voice was a guttural roar.
I dragged myself out from beneath Slate as he continued to shake, and I scrambled for the door. As soon as I was through, I slammed it behind me and locked it; bracing my back against it for good measure. I panted heavily as I slid down to the tiled floor and laid my cheek against the wood. Then I pressed closer; listening. I could hear Slate moving about and then talking.
“Get your ass over here now!” He growled.
I calmed a little when it became clear that Slate wasn't approaching the door, and I finally took a look around me. I was in a bathroom. Black tile, silver fixtures, pale porcelain. Lots of mirrors. I didn't get up to investigate; my heart was still pounding, and Slate was still moving restlessly. A scant inch of wood separated us.
After what seemed like an eternity—my muscles starting to ache from tensing so long—I heard someone come into the bedroom. Slate growled. A woman chuckled; pure sensual triumph. But her laugh was abruptly cut off. The sound of tearing fabric filtered through the wood to me, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I shivered. I hoped some other woman wasn't about to be abused because of my mistake.
No; she was not abused. Or rather, if she was, she obviously enjoyed it.
Within seconds, female moans rose over the sound of slamming hips. Guttural groans set my skin to shivering; hot and cold. The woman kept talking. More. Yes. Gods. Oh, Slate. Over and over. Damn it all; I wanted her to shut up. But Slate didn't say a word. Just that animal growling and snarling. And the constant, rhythmic thudding.
My thighs were clenched together and my cheeks were flushed with shame. My entire face and upper body were flushed with my embarrassment. Not just for listening to something so private but for the fact that it was arousing me. I wanted to be that woman. My eyes couldn't focus on anything in front of me; my mind was too busy whipping up images to go with the sounds that came from the other room. But in my mind, I was in Slate's bed instead of that faceless woman. I imagined Slate between my thighs; pounding that hard flesh into mine. I could practically feel his hot flesh in my hands as I gripped his ass. Smell his skin and taste his kiss.
Every growl that seeped through the door vibrated against me intimately and tormented me with more visions. Some of them were pure fantasy, but some of them were memories. I saw Slate staring at me in the club; his silver eyes like liquid metal. His shaft in my hands; velvet and stone. The wild look on his face when he rose above me. The unrelenting pressure of him between my thighs.
I lifted my hand to smell the scent he'd left on my skin and shivered.
Sweet stones; the smell of him. How could he smell clean and dirty at the same time? The good kind of dirty; that rich, male musk that just seeps off some men. It was enough to pull a groan from my throat. I had been sliding those same fingers—the ones saturated with the smell of his sex—between my legs when it struck me how bare I was down there. With wide eyes, I realized that Slate still had my—
“Are those panties?” The woman asked furiously. “Have you been holding another woman's underwear the entire time we've been fucking?”
“Get the fuck out!” Slate shouted.
There were no protests; only the sound of the woman getting hastily dressed and then fleeing in terror. I laid my hot cheek against the wood, but the door had been warmed by my body and offered no relief. I contemplated laying out on the tile but then I heard footsteps approaching.
The door swung open, and I fell with it. I caught myself on my palms, pushed back onto my knees, looked up, and found myself face-to-crotch with Slate. He was flaccid but still impressive and so perfect that it made my mouth water. Pale gold with a dusky blush at the ti
p. He hardened as I watched—that beautiful flesh reaching for me—and my stare flew to his face. Slate's burning stare was in place again but his whole face seemed to be trembling beneath it; shifting with emotions I couldn't name.
“You have a choice,” Slate ground out. “Either start sucking my dick or stop staring at it and stand up, Elaria.”
I gasped as I lurched to my feet.
Slate grabbed my upper arm and pulled me swiftly through his bedroom. It was obvious that this was his room; men's cologne sat on the dresser and an in-wall closet was ajar to reveal rows of pressed shirts, jackets, and pants. It was an utterly masculine interior. What the hell had I been doing in his bedroom?
Slate walked me out into the hallway and down one door to my room. He shoved me inside but then leaned his face close to mine.
“If you ever tease me like that again,” he snarled, “I'm going to fuck you, no matter how much you beg me not to. And if you dare to call it rape, I'll fuck you harder until you beg me not to stop.”
Slate slammed the door in my face.
It wasn't until hours later, when I was listening to the third woman he'd summoned scream his name, that I realized Slate had been holding my panties in his clenched fist.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Slate was at it all day. I got hungry, but I was too terrified and too turned on to leave my room. Eventually, I fell into a fitful slumber. The sound of sex followed me into my dreams, and I tossed and turned; sweat coating my skin and desire turning me liquid. In that misty realm, I couldn't put up a fight. I couldn't deny my attraction to the deadly zone lord. And that was all right.
It was just lust; just physical need. I wouldn't act on it because I never allowed my body to go where my heart wasn't already living. Not anymore. I had too much to lose now. I would never give in to my desire for Slate. Not in the waking world, at least.
But there, in my dreams, I could touch him. I could taste him and fuck him without consequences. The sound of him on the other side of the wall from me—savage growls, primal grunts and slamming hips—must have filtered into my sleep and helped tip me over the edge; into dream-Slate's arms. I lived out all the fantasies that had been filling my subconscious, and I writhed beneath the thin sheet; my naked body shivering with need.
Because no matter how much I ground and pounded onto him, I couldn't find satisfaction. Finally, my mind took mercy on me, and I dreamed that Slate came into my room to ease my suffering. It was so vivid; the creak of the door, the light pouring in and making me blink, his naked body just a silhouette against it. I could even smell him.
Slate reached me in two seconds and knelt beside my bed. His eyes were bright; feverish. His hands nearly as hot. His nostrils flared as he scented me. Slate slid one of those hot hands beneath the covers; squeezing my breast possessively before moving lower. Between my legs. His stubbled chin rubbed against my flushed neck. He worked a thick finger inside me. The pad of his thumb pushed forcefully against my clit. Slate pumped and rubbed until I screamed in release; his hot breath hitting my throat in animal pants.
I shivered with aftershocks as Slate's hand clenched inside and around my sex. He pulled it away from me slickly as he lightly brushed my parted lips with his, and then he faded away.
It was the most erotic dream I've ever had. So good that I woke up languorous from sated desire. My dream replayed as soon as I opened my eyes and the events of the previous day added to it. I flushed. But my stomach rumbled shortly thereafter, and I let go of my embarrassment in favor of fulfilling a different hunger.
But first; a bath.
I looked rough; my body sticky with sweat and my hair in wild curls. I went into the bathroom and gratefully used the brush I found in a drawer there to deal with my hair before I dealt with my odor. Refreshed and shiny-clean, I put on fresh underwear and a light, cotton dress; expecting to have my breakfast and then face the day.
Except it wasn't morning.
I stepped out of my room to see the zone lights lowered to the level that indicated night. I had slept the day away while Slate had... My cheeks heated. Wow; that man had some serious stamina. Was all that because I'd rubbed his dick? I froze as the thought hit me. No. I may have sparked something, but his lust probably picked up on its own after that. He probably had fuckathons like this all the time.
And now I was living with him.
Shit. Was I going to have to listen to Slate get in on with a steady stream of women every day? Could I handle that? I'd had to retreat into sleep to deal with it this time. Was it possible to get immune to the sound of Slate having sex? I swallowed roughly. Damn; I missed my lovers.
That was my problem; it had been too long since I'd had sex. I needed to get home to my men fast.
“What are you wearing?” Slate asked as he strode down the hallway toward me.
“I...” I blinked at him.
I don't know what I expected to see; perhaps stubble or dark circles beneath his eyes. Slate looked amazing; freshly shaved, a slick suit coasting over his broad shoulders, his hair shining from a good brushing, and the scent of expensive cologne enhancing his musk.
Slate smiled slowly as he looked me over. “How are you feeling this evening, Spellsinger? Rested or restless?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I'll just go change.”
I turned on my heel and headed back into the bedroom as he chuckled low in his throat.
“The blue dress, if you please, Elaria,” Slate called through the door.
I grimaced at the dress that happened to already be in my hands. I wanted to shove it back in the closet, but my father had taught me to choose my battles wisely, and I knew I wouldn't win this one. It wasn't worth fighting, to begin with. It was just a stupid dress. I yanked the cotton dress off and pulled on the silk. It had no other embellishment; just a perfect cut and a rich color that reminded me of Torin and Darc's eyes.
“Torin,” I whispered as I ran my hand over the silk. “Darc. I'll get back to you; I promise.”
“How long does it take for you to put on a dress?” Slate's voice sliced through the wood door.
I yanked it open and glared at him. “I'm hungry.”
“Are you now?” Slate's eyes heated as his hand reached toward me.
I stood my ground despite the instinct to back away, but he only took my arm and steered me down the hallway.
“You can eat at the Quarry again,” Slate said as he moved me through his office.
“I can walk on my own,” I pointed out primly.
Slate released my arm abruptly. “Then hurry up; we're going to be late. It's eight o'clock, and I want you onstage at nine.”
I sighed deeply but followed Slate down the stairs and outside Building 1. It was strange to stand on the packed earth in high heels. Strange to wear silk while I stared at the sand of the training yard. I felt like a bird in a cage, but it wasn't the cage I called love. And this wasn't one of the men who lived inside it with me.
I clenched my jaw as Slate opened the passenger door of his Maserati for me. I hadn't noticed before that his windows were tinted. I have no idea why he bothered with the tint; everyone knew the Zone Lord's car. The foot and car traffic parted for it; people literally jumping out of his way as he rounded corners.
Oh, right; he didn't like to be watched. Except for me; he didn't mind me watching. My cheeks flushed with heat as he navigated the zone roads.
One of the bouncers waited in front of the Quarry for us and parked the car while we headed inside. The club was already packed, and Slate had to steer me through the crowd. Not that they hindered him; beneathers parted for him there just as they did on the streets outside. But I wasn't a part of the Slate package. Not until he pulled me against his side and slid an arm around my shoulders. Then, suddenly, I became interesting.
People looked at me; remembered me. They stopped moving for Slate; shifting into his path instead. To meet me; the spellsinger who had wowed them the night before. The same one who'd been dominating the arena.
They asked if I'd be singing again tonight, if I was fighting tomorrow, and if Slate and I were really a couple. Slate answered all of their questions for me; the last one with a vague and aggravating, “She's mine.”
Nope; I didn't like that answer.
“I'm yours?” I growled at Slate as soon as we were in the privacy of his lounge. “What the fuck?”
“We're an item now, remember? And even if we weren't, you'd still be mine.” Slate strode behind the bar and picked up a phone. “Dinner for one.” He hung up and turned back to me. “Do you deny that I have control over you?”
Oh, that stung. My jaw clenched, my stare narrowed, and I spat out, “You're damn straight I deny it.”
Slate prowled around the bar as if he were about to prove me wrong.
“You may control my magic, Devon, but you don't control me,” I snarled into his face as soon as he was within touching distance.
Slate's breath sawed in and out of his flared nostrils as he stared me down. “It didn't seem that way earlier today.”
“That was an accident,” I whispered. “I thought I was in my bed at home; with Banning. I thought you were him. You've got a similar build, okay?”
“I don't mean you rubbing my dick,” his voice was a guttural growl; his face a mere inch from mine. “I mean the way you moaned in your sleep until I had to shove my finger deep in your pussy and make you shut the hell up. Well, you screamed a lot at first, but then you went quiet.”
I blanched and then flushed. “That was real?”
“I've never heard a woman come like that; a sort of growling scream. Guttural and sweet all at once. It suits you.”
Slate leaned into my neck and breathed deeply. His pelvis pushed into mine; just enough to show me that I affected him too. I shivered; images flashing through my mind. His eyes above me, the sheet fluttering as his hand moved beneath it, his lips lowering...
