The Darkest Captive

by Gena Showalter

  She rose to unsteady legs and took a few uncertain steps, the metal bird at the foot of the bed clocking her every move. Alerting Galen?

  The thought comforted her. Just in case he didn’t know she’d awoken, she would text him. She opened the nightstand drawer, expecting to find her old cell phone. Hmm. No phone, but there was a huge box of condoms. Flavored condoms. Extra small. No way these came from Galen. So who had put them there?

  A mystery for another day.

  In the bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Well, well. A glimpse in the mirror revealed her bloodstained clothing had been replaced by a pink T-shirt that read “Give Me Galen or—Just Give Me Galen!” and shorts with little red hearts.

  In the drawer with an assortment of hair bows, tiaras, and brushes, she found another box of flavored, extra small condoms. Seriously. Who had stayed in her room?

  Rushing footsteps echoed seconds before the bedroom door swung open. Galen strode inside, those gorgeous wings arching over his broad shoulders, and closed the entrance with a kick. His pale hair stuck out in spikes. A black glove covered his prosthetic. He wore a white T-shirt, the material hugging his biceps, and a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants. Casual clothing, yet he appeared anything but relaxed.

  Familiar tension emanated from him as he crossed the distance and leaned against the bathroom door. Seeing him set off a chain reaction of sensation. First came heat, then tingles, then a flood of arousal. She hurriedly shut the drawer, hiding the condoms.

  “How are you?” he asked, cautious.

  Why cautious? “I’m better.” Alive. If she had died without being with Galen—a time born of desire rather than anger, resentment, or revenge—well, talk about a true travesty.

  “Are you pissed at me? For the letters, I mean.”

  “No. I’m glad you read them,” she admitted. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

  He regarded her warily as she approached and wrapped her arms around him. Was he, perchance, afraid to hope she meant the words?

  “I missed you,” she said, rising to her tiptoes. Her lips hovering over his, she breathed in his sweetness.

  At first, he was stiff as a board, maybe a little confused. “Do you want to talk about—”

  “No. I want to kiss you.”

  Relaxing, he gripped her lower back with one hand and cupped her nape with the other, the prosthetic. One yank, and her body was flush against his. Their groans blended when he crashed his mouth into hers and kissed her.

  As he walked forward, she hooked her legs around his waist. He blindly reached out to fiddle with the knobs in the shower. Water burst from the spout in the ceiling, raining in the stall, creating a soft pitter-patter. Soon, hot steam turned the bathroom into a sultry dreamland.

  “I want you. I need you,” he rasped. “But what do you want, sugar? What do you need?”

  “You.” Only ever you. “All of you.”

  “Then all of me you shall have.” He gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged, ripping the material. Then he gave her shirt the same snatch-and-go treatment. Cool air brushed her breasts, her nipples puckering. He groaned. “My glorious female.”

  She stepped closer, warm skin pressing against warm skin. Inhale. Friction. Exhale. Friction. Desire sparked, spreading like wildfire, burning her inside and out.

  With his forehead resting against hers, he said, “If you’re doing this to forget what happened or because you feel indebted to me…I’m okay with that. But next time, or maybe the fifth—or fifteenth time, I insist you want me the way I want you, or I’ll say no. Probably.”

  She laughed, then moaned. “Too much talking. Kiss me.”

  Hand and gloved metal in her hair, he returned his mouth to hers. Their tongues thrust together in a wild dance. He urged her feet to the floor and tore the waist of her shorts, her panties. Yes, yes! Giving as good as she got, she shredded his soft cotton lounge pants, leaving him bare.

  Galen. Bare. A sight she hadn’t gotten to enjoy either time they were together. The first time, they’d been in a public setting, and in a rush. The second, Cronus had interrupted. Now, they were alone and well-guarded. She could do anything she wished…

  Legion ended the kiss, needing a moment to drink him in visually. He was beyond gorgeous, probably the most beautiful man ever to live, with muscles galore, two butterfly tattoos on his chest—the perfect canvas for her tongue—and a wealth of bronzed skin.

  Her gaze dropped, and she licked her lips. He was big. Huge. And her aching body was empty without him.

  When he gripped his length, as if in offering, she licked her lips. Magnificent. Had any male ever been so seductive?

  He gave her the same once-over, only slower, more thorough. His pupils swelled, swallowing his irises, making her adore the body she’d been given.

  No. No male had ever been so seductive.

  “The prosthetic,” she began, only to release a keening noise when his knuckle circled her nipple. “Let me help you take it off.” She would kiss the wound he’d sustained on her behalf.

  “No need. The glove is waterproof.” He stepped into the shower stall, taking her with him, hot water washing over them. “I can get it—and you—soaking wet.”

  “Mission accomplished,” she whispered.

  He gave her nipple a light pinch, sending a shaft of pleasure straight to her core. “You ready for more?”

  “With you? Always.” An undeniable truth. A shocking truth.

  Before she could fist his massive erection, he spun her around, putting her back to his chest. He lifted her arms and flattened her palms against the tiled wall. “I want you more ready.”

  She expected intense sexual play, with his big hands kneading her breasts. Man and machine working together. Barring that, she expected him to thrust his fingers inside her, and go straight for the gold. Instead, he gently shampooed and conditioned her hair, then soaped her up from top to bottom, his touch perfunctory. Letting her become accustomed to each new sensation?

  “I’m ready,” she said, and groaned.

  “Not enough.”

  Maybe he needed to be readied. She turned to face him, snatched up the soap and cleaned him. Remaining perfunctory wasn’t an option. She worshipped his body. Wasn’t long before little growls rumbled in his chest.

  “You don’t follow any rules but your own, do you?” he rasped. “I am the same.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Without warning, he spun her once again, forcing her back to rest against his chest. This time, he fit his erection in the crack of her ass. He nibbled on her earlobe, cupping her breasts. While both his hand and the prosthetic kneaded her plump, giving flesh, the prosthetic applied a little more force. The variation drove her wild.

  Anticipation buzzed along her nerve endings, and she wondered what he would do next.

  “More?” He glided a hand down, down her stomach, and circled her navel.

  “Yes, please.” Reaching back, she tangled her fingers in his wet hair.

  He continued to knead with the prosthetic, kicking her feet apart and using his other hand to thrust two fingers inside her. Immediate pleasure. She cried out, her back bowing.

  The heel of his palm pressed against the center of her need, every inward glide sending a new bolt of frenzied passion through her. He made love to her with those fingers. Thrusting deep, so deep. In and out. In and out. Going slow, so agonizingly slow. No longer just driving her wild—driving her to the brink of madness.

  “This first time,” he said, “I’m going to make you come hard and fast. I’m going to take the edge off, and give you a taste of all I’m offering.” He ran the shell of her ear between his teeth. “But it’s not going to be enough. It’s never going to be enough.”

  Pressure built, bliss consuming her bit by bit. She panted harder, writhed with more force, and tugged on his hair, awash with sensation. “Galen.”

  “More?” he asked. Still kneading, still pinching. Still thrusting his fingers in and out, i
n and out.

  Then he wedged in a third finger.

  She came in a rush, a strangled cry leaving her, inner walls contracting. Bright, beautiful stars winked through her vision, her mind snagging on a single word: yes, yes, yes. Her galloping heart banged against her ribs. For a moment, her lungs hitched, breathing impossible. Then she was panting again, drenched in Galen’s scent. No. Their scent. Wildflowers, dark spices, storms—sex.

  Hard and fast? Check.

  The strength leached from her muscles, and she sagged against him. Good thing he kept his strong arms banded around her, keeping her upright.

  “Good?” he asked, his tone rough, ragged, and strained.

  “So good.” But he was right. It hadn’t been enough. New fires erupted, pressure building all over again. Hunger turned ravenous, another cascade of warmth pooling between her legs. “Are you ready for this, Galen?”

  “Yes,” he hissed. He dipped his finger into her core, as if he needed another hit of her wetness. As if she were a drug.

  “Not enough,” she said, mimicking him. Determined to make him as mindless, she whirled around. She kissed down his chiseled torso…licked his butterfly tattoos, exactly as she’d imagined. The mystical ink heated against her tongue.

  “You don’t have to do this, sugar.”

  “I know.” On her knees, she peered up at the spellbinding male through the thick shield of her lashes. “You’re mine, so I get to.” With her hands on his hips, she leaned toward him…closer…and licked the slit.

  Lids heavy and hooded, he threw back his head and bellowed with pleasure. His neck muscles corded, the tendons extending. Stretching out his arms, he pressed his fists into the stall walls. Water sluiced over the butterflies, every ridge of strength, and into the golden happy trail that led to his massive erection. Magnificent beast.

  “Leila,” he croaked.

  “If I do something wrong, tell me.” She gripped the base of his shaft. “I’ve never done this before.” Not willingly.

  “You don’t have to—” he said, trying again.

  “Mine,” she said, and swallowed his length.

  She was clumsy at first, but she didn’t care. He didn’t seem to care. He hissed and growled and clawed at the wall. Soon, a fervor took hold of them both, nothing more important than his climax. She licked, she sucked.

  A roar escaped him, and it was then, in that frenzied slice of life, that she recognized the full brunt of her power over this man. As strong as he was, she was stronger, because he lived to make her happy.

  The knowledge emboldened her. He was hers. This moment was hers.

  “Don’t want to come in your mouth,” he rasped. “Not this time.”

  Agreed. She wanted to know his taste, wanted to experience everything with him, but this first time, she wanted his shaft buried deep inside her when he came.

  Legion stood to wobbly legs. Galen swept her into his arms, carried her out of the stall, and eased her onto the bed. The kiss of cool air on her water-damp skin made her shiver anew. But Galen quickly warmed her up, his tongue like a flame as he licked his way down her body. He laved her nipples, teased her navel, and grazed her inner thighs with his teeth.

  Shallow breaths left her. Had anything ever felt this good? He nipped a path closer to the heart of her desire.

  “Yes,” she pleaded. “Do it.”

  The width of his shoulders kept her legs spread wide, leaving her vulnerable to his every whim—and glad for it.

  Warm breath caressed her inner folds as he smiled at her, a slow curl of his lips. “You’re soaked for me.”

  “Desperate,” she admitted.

  “All this honey...all mine.”

  “Yours.”

  Liiiick. A scream ripped from her soul. Galen. Devoured. Her. She reached up and back to grip the iron headboard. He thrust his tongue inside her. Again. And again. Wave after wave of rapture crashed over her. When his fingers joined the fun, Legion thought her mind might break from the pleasure. Lick, thrust. Suck, withdraw. Nibble, thrust—two fingers this time. Three.

  Yes! Sensitized from head to toe, she came again, this climax more ferocious, the pleasure almost unbearably intense. Harder. Faster. And more wondrous.

  “Need inside you,” Galen said, his voice more ragged than ever before.

  “Inside! Now.”

  “Going to give you everything.” He jolted up, smashing their mouths together. Their tongues rolled and clashed in a sensual battle, the pleasure undeniable, extending her orgasm. She moaned.

  Hooking an arm underneath her knee, he spread her legs farther apart and poised his shaft at her opening. Then he paused, panting. She paused, too, her panting breaths a mirror to his. Their gazes met, currents of electricity arcing between them.

  A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “I am what you want? You are sure?”

  “Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  He slammed inside her.

  Yes, yes! She screamed, a third climax sweeping her up, up, consuming her body and soul.

  Galen pounded in, slid out. In, out. Good wasn’t an adequate word, she decided. Sublime? Closer. Perfection—ding, ding, ding.

  “Galen.” She locked her ankles over his backside, clinging to him, wanting his body to experience the same sublime pleasure.

  “The things you make me feel…” Inhalations labored, he gripped the headboard, using it as leverage. Pounding harder, faster. Ensuring she felt him in every cell. Euphoria glittered in his eyes. “I’m so close already.”

  She arched her back and nipped his chin. “Kiss me.”

  Frantic now, he lowered his head, melding his mouth to hers. His shaft continued to move in and out. Faster and faster, shaking the entire bed, making the headboard rattle. Pictures tumbled from the walls and shattered on the floor. Neither of them paid any heed. In, out. Even faster. In, out. Waves became a tsunami of sensation. A rapturous gale force.

  She lost herself in the moment, in the man. He threw back his head to roar at the ceiling, coming in a white-hot rush. She let go, falling into another climax…

  And even more deeply in love.

  Chapter Twelve

  Galen’s heartbeat had yet to slow. He cradled Leila against his naked body, chest to chest, the softness of her curves conforming to the hardness of his strength. One wing stretched underneath her, while the other covered her. He surrounded her. Every time he breathed, he drew in more of her luscious scent.

  Never, in all his endless years, had sex so consumed him. The world could have crumbled and he wouldn’t have cared. Nothing had mattered but Leila’s pleasure. She’d come alive, her passion a torch that had nearly burned him to ash.

  The perfect way to go.

  Their first time, he’d experienced a measure of contentment. A shock, yes, considering they’d had sex in a bathroom. But the contentment had not compared to this. This…

  This was unlike anything he’d ever known. Part contentment, part exhilaration, with satisfaction and genuine hope for a better future. This was the life he’d always dreamed of having, but feared he couldn’t achieve. This was what he’d needed. A mate who valued him.

  He realized he would rather be with Leila than rule a thousand worlds. As sappy as it sounded, she completed him. Spending every day together wouldn’t be enough. He coveted more time with her, and he couldn’t blame Jealousy.

  That didn’t stop False Hope from taking a swing at him. The Lords will grow to hate her—because of you. They’ll never forgive you for what you did in the past. They might pretend otherwise, but hate will always infect their hearts. The longer Leila remains with you, the higher the likelihood you’ll ruin her life. She’ll resent you. Eventually, you’ll lose her.

  Galen would rather die than lose her. Fight the rise of panic.

  She petted his chest, saying, “The demons acting up? Telling you we’re destined to split, maybe?”

  “How did you know?”

  “They are trying to convince me to part with you. But I k
now they are liars, and so do you. We just need to do the opposite of whatever they suggest, and prepare for amazing results.”

  The opposite of accepting hatred from the Lords—fighting for their love. Galen couldn’t control how they felt about him, but he could control how he treated them, and whether or not he let go of past grievances.

  He kissed the corner of Leila’s mouth. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” Her blunt-tipped nail glided over his nipple as she traced an X on his pec. “This time was better than the first, right?”

  The hint of vulnerability proved utterly adorable. “What we just did was better than any time, ever. I’ve never stuck around after sex, never wanted to encourage another go ’round, or wanted to imprint my essence on another person. Now, I think I’ll throw a very manly he-fit if you try to bail.”

  She snickered, delighting him. He’d feared this latest abduction would break her, tainting her recovery, yet she had a new zest for life.

  “I can do anything,” he added, 100% serious, “except let you go.”

  “You can do anything. Over the years, you could have killed more Lords. You didn’t. You could have won more battles and wiped out all the Lords at once. You didn’t. You could have killed Ashlyn when you kidnapped her. You didn’t. Because you never put your whole heart into the war.” She thought for a moment, then gasped. “You liked fighting the guys, didn’t you, so you had an excuse to remain in their lives?”

  An astute observation. One he’d never allowed himself to consider, even when he’d walked away from battles he’d known he could win. He’d only ever told himself that every villain needed a hero, someone worthy of his skill, or eternity would get very boring, very fast.

  “Once,” he said, “I might have been a closet good guy. No longer.” The things he’d done… the things he would do if anyone hurt his woman… “Do you hope I’ll morph into someone like Aeron, who adheres to a strict moral code?”

  “I like you just as you are.” Voice soft, she said, “Do you hope I’ll morph back into the tempestuous girl you knew before?”