She looked around. After two months of doing nothing, her future was full of more nothing. “We can’t just stay here and not help.”
Bryant pinned her with his direct stare. “You can and you will. Until we know more, we wait. I have Sierra working on gathering more intel on Earth and the team members that aren’t on duty will be doing the same up here.”
“How?” Jagger asked, and she could tell it was just because he had to feel like part of the team and not just their duty.
Dionna answered, her rich voice only as loud as it needed to be for them all to hear. “Truthfully, we don’t know. Senator Kenton’s living quarters and those of Enforcer Stede’s were already combed through before we got there.”
Which meant there were more up here working with Kenton and Stede. Thus the protection detail and their restricted movement.
She looked at Jagger. His jaw was rigid as he stood with his arms crossed and his feet planted like he was in charge when they all knew he and Felicia were powerless. He lifted his gaze and met hers.
He wasn’t happy about being stuck here, he didn’t like that it was with her, and he was going to be justifiably moody about his mother.
But for once, he couldn’t blame her and she got no satisfaction from that.
* * *
A muffled voice came through the other side of the door. “Come on. I need a sparring partner.”
Fucking Felicia.
Her restlessness had kept him up half the night. The wall between their bedrooms needed another layer of stone. It was her third night back in the realm and she hadn’t settled down. The first night, she’d been unconscious, and he was starting to wonder if it was the only way she’d relax.
During the day, she was surly and short-tempered, and he could match her for every ounce of bad mood. Their rooms were separated by stone, but he felt her in there. Tossing and turning, twisting in his sheets.
He swung his legs down and padded over to the door before questioning whether he should get dressed first. His feathers were ruffled and he wore only a pair of black and orange board shorts.
He yanked the door open. “What the fuck for?”
Her gaze dipped to his chest. He shouldn’t want to preen under her appreciation but he stood a little straighter. That pink tongue of hers darted out to wet her lower lip. If she did that again, his board shorts weren’t going to hide his reaction.
She lifted her gaze, back to the shrewd angel he’d been guarding. “You don’t have a punching bag and Bronx refuses to leave his post. He’s startlingly devoted to his work for such a player.”
Jealousy swept through him like a spilled vial of angel fire. “You know his reputation as a player how?”
Anger flashed in her eyes but was replaced by wickedness. She leaned close. “Because one time, he and I fucked for hours. Days, even. Did you know his dick is—”
A choking noise cut her off. Jagger thought it had come from him, but Bronx’s voice quickly followed. “Don’t believe her. Unless she says how huge and talented my dick is. Then it’s totally the truth but she doesn’t know from firsthand experience.” A flush spread over Bronx’s face as he approached the doorway. It was the first time Jagger had ever seen the other warrior flustered. “I don’t need the new director thinking I messed with his mate’s sister. He’s already irritated that I flirted with Tenley.” Bronx adopted Director Vale’s gravelly voice with the light British accent. “‘Don’t you dare hit on the staff, Bronx. I don’t need the drama.’ She was the one hitting on me!”
Felicia rolled her lips in like she was holding in a laugh and shot a glare at Bronx. “Bryant will know that his mate’s sister can choose whoever she messes around with. Right now, I’m messing with Jagger here.” Her gaze went back to him. “Shadow boxing won’t cut it. I need a partner.”
He raised a brow toward Bronx. The male was up here for a reason.
Bronx lifted a steel-gray wing. “She’s been bugging the shit out of me. You might as well spar.”
“You came up here to tell me that?” He was not jealous that Bronx was getting Felicia’s attention.
“I wanted you to know that we’re down a guard, but Harlowe will be here soon.”
He was getting babysat by those he’d fought beside for years. The human world was a team short because of him. Was this one of the reasons Felicia had been so cranky when he’d started protecting her? She hated to be a drain on resources. She might not admit it, but it was one of the reasons she’d fled the realm. The feeling of responsibility for another’s action. Like her mother’s death and how Director Vale’s team had suffered because her father had wanted to protect her. Like Jagger was grating his teeth and accepting responsibility for Jameson and other angels who wanted to hurt this realm.
He wanted this over. Then again, it wouldn’t be over until Jameson was dead and that…was too hard to think about. Dead-to-me was different that being well and truly gone.
“Fine, I’ll spar.” He leaned through the doorframe, reveling in her feminine awareness. “But you need to learn to fight with your wings.”
“No.” She backed away, her gaze darting to where Bronx had disappeared. He wouldn’t have said it if his teammate could’ve overheard.
“Harlowe and Bronx won’t disturb us.”
“You’ve seen them,” she hissed. “They’d be useless in a fight.”
“They’ve been tucked away for years. Start strengthening them now.” His calm demeanor might irritate her, but he wouldn’t budge on this. Hiding them was more than second nature to her. Damaged wings and shame were part of her identity. She’d need more convincing. “Just like I’m Jameson Haddock’s weak spot, your wings are yours. The guy who hurt you knows that—and he works for the other side. Don’t think he won’t exploit that.”
Her expression clouded over and he didn’t like the way she hunched in on herself. She was listening, though.
“I have a gym in the lower level. We’ll lock the door. No one can see in or get in. Harlowe and Bronx are keeping watch.”
“It’s going to hurt.” She didn’t say it as a counterpoint. The resignation in her voice was too clear. She’d been vulnerable once and she didn’t want to be that way again. “Let me take some meds first.”
For a guy who’d hated the idea of her being in his home, he suddenly couldn’t wait to spar with her in his gym.
Chapter 9
For the eighth time, she checked the bolt on the door.
It didn’t make her feel better. The relief at having her wings out couldn’t match the trepidation about fighting with them. The scar tissue had adjusted to the weight and while still painful, it still felt better than a long-term morph. Jagger was right.
As much as she hated the thought, she did baby her wings. Her back muscles weren’t accustomed to hefting her wings around and the fine muscles in the wings themselves had likely atrophied.
For years she’d assumed that as long as she wasn’t in Numen, she didn’t need them. But she was in Numen now and the battle in the Mist had shown her how useful they were.
Jagger set his protein shake on a rack of weights. Since metal wasn’t in large supply in this realm and was usually requisitioned for warrior weapons, he must’ve smuggled everything over. Many of their kind did.
The mat they stood on was similar to the rubbery ones in the gyms she’d trained in. She’d seen warriors practicing on the grass, but Jagger must’ve felt like he was missing out when he’d moved in here with his fiancée.
There was no way Valerina had stepped foot in here.
“So, are we doing this?” she asked.
Jagger was doing high knee bends and warming up his body. She’d been ready since she’d woken up. Her wings were out and her impatience was just as unfurled.
“Are you warmed up?” he asked.
“I don’t need to be.”
“Your wings do.” He gave her a pointed look. “FYI, we’re not sparring.”
“What the hell are you talking about?�
�� Why had she woken him up anyway? She’d known the gym was here. She could’ve tumbled or something.
“I’m talking about starting as slow as we can. Doing some strength training.” He shrugged, tilted his head side to side, then flared his wings out. Pointing to her. “Do five of these and see how it feels.”
It felt like she wanted to run and hide from the male who was so insulting about her character but cared for her safety and the wings no one knew about.
Her sports bra pulled as she raised her wings a few inches. She’d had to cut out and re-stitch part of the material, but she’d managed a garment that contained her breasts and gave her back freedom.
Lowering her wings, she winced at the pull.
“One.” Was he seriously going to count them out?
She repeated two through five. An unfamiliar ache settled into her shoulders.
“Now stretch them out to the side.” As he took her through a stretching and strengthening plan only he knew about, she cursed herself for the oversight. She should’ve been doing this all along.
She was transported back to those first years of learning to fight, when she’d been weak as a lamb. Sweat dotted her forehead, perspiration spread across her body, and she was full of discomfort and then outright pain. She was breathing hard and she’d done nothing more than wing tai chi.
“Good. That should do it.” He took another drink from his shake and went to the door.
She put her hands on her waist. “I’ve got nowhere else to be. Let’s fight.”
His gaze flicked down to her bare legs, then brushed across the expanse of her bare belly. “I’m good.”
“I wouldn’t know. You’re too chicken to spar.” She was antsy, and waiting around that guest room, doing nothing, wasn’t an option. After her wing yoga, she needed a confidence booster. The thought of taking her aggression out on him wasn’t an idea she was letting go.
He paused.
She concentrated, morphing her wings. After all the warm-up, they ached, but the action wasn’t as acutely painful as before. “Come on. I’m bored silly. Make me earn all the sitting around we’re going to do later.”
He rolled his shoulders and set his drink down. That was her shake recipe—and his favorite, though he’d never admit it. His wings disappeared in their own morph. So seamless, so simple. “One match.”
“Best two out of three.” She was her father’s daughter and wanted things her way.
“Let’s see how the first match goes.” Was he holding out to see how well she did before agreeing to more?
They faced off. He gave her a dubious once-over. They circled.
“I think you’re nervous,” she said as she tried to catch him off guard with a left hook.
He blocked her with a simple swat. “I think you’re cocky. And it’s going to cost you.”
He dropped and swung a leg around. She barely jumped and cleared him. She wasn’t fast enough after landing. He’d expected her to evade his move. His momentum continued as his other leg came around, sweeping her feet out from under her.
Damn!
She thumped on her back and was mid roll when strong hands closed around her calves and yanked.
Double damn! She’d been so distracted with getting him to spar in the first place, she hadn’t put much thought into the actual fight. Rookie moves left and right.
Sliding across the mat, she wriggled and kicked, but his grip was solid. He yanked her right under him and pinned her.
“I guess we could do best two out of three.” His wasn’t even breathing hard. “Since that was so fast.”
“It won’t happen again.” Even as she said it, she wanted it to happen again. More so, she didn’t want it to end. His weight on her was delicious. His bare chest hovered over her face as he pressed her hands to the mat. He was using his legs and feet to keep hers from moving, which was a good thing. Otherwise she might widen them and cradle him against her body.
Raising her head, she snapped her teeth at one of his nipples.
He scrambled back. “What are you doing?”
“Winning the second match.” She shoved her feet into his chest and rolled forward to leap on top of him. Their positions had been reversed.
The look he gave her was bored, but his pupils were wide. She was poised just above his waist on his stomach. He could knock her off with little effort.
Could she get him to make a mistake? She leaned down, digging his wrists into the mat, and whispered in her most seductive tone, “If I scoot a couple of inches backward, what am I going to find?”
His eyes narrowed and he bucked her off. They rolled across the mat, attempting to pin one another. When had this become ground warfare?
Grunts of effort pinged off the walls and was it her imagination, or was it getting harder and harder to differentiate them from a porno? She wiggled out of his embrace and the sound that escaped her was straight up triple X.
She rolled to her hands and knees and tried to get up. It didn’t make sense. He was down. Maybe she could stomp on his stomach, but the more he touched her the hotter she got. This was no longer fighting. This was foreplay.
His hand caught her ankle and pulled her back to him. She didn’t counterattack. Her mind was jumbled and she needed space from his muscles and the way she wanted to sink into them and never leave.
She hobbled, still on one knee, her other foot in his hand. Without looking back, she felt his heat rise up behind her. He was planning to pin her once again.
No, no, no. She couldn’t get under him again. She might do something humiliating, like moan. And writhe.
Her body was flushed. Her cheeks hot. Her breasts heavy. And she’d never admit how wet she was. Her shorts weren’t going to be enough to hide how turned on she was if she didn’t get out now.
One of his arms caught her around the middle and started to spin her. The next motion would be backward as he flattened her on the matt.
No. Nope.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Stop.”
He did. Her leg was dropped. She centered both knees under her and without opening her eyes, she knew the scuffle on the mat was him getting in front of her.
His warm fingers tipped her chin up. “Did I hurt you?”
Her eyelids fluttered open. His hair was disheveled, a platinum mess on top of his head that made him look like he’d just had a marathon sex session. Concern simmered in his light-green eyes, but his lids were hooded. And he was so close to her.
The longer she took to answer, the more he cupped her face.
“Felicia.”
He didn’t ask again. Had he hurt her? Yes. A lot. But not today. Right here, all that was forgotten except the panic that he could turn her inside out and toss her away like she was nothing.
“Jagger.” She poured all of her helplessness into his name. It was an affirmation. A question. A plea.
His head dipped down.
This was such a bad idea. But for months she’d wondered what it’d be like to kiss him.
Now she knew. Consuming. Heat licked over her and he closed in. They were still kneeling, but that didn’t stop them from getting closer.
She was smashed against him. His hands stroked around her bare torso, a ragged groan vibrating his chest as he slid them down to her ass. The solid length pressing into her belly answered so many questions and inspired too many more. Yes, he had a lot to work with, but how? Would he be slow? Rough? Change it up?
His tongue swept into her mouth, shutting out any more questions. His taste. Sweet as the strawberry protein shake, he swamped her senses. The grip on each ass cheek was a punishing caress.
He towered over her and she was leaning back, and the next second, they were spread out on the floor. The kiss hadn’t been broken, like they were so connected that nothing could break them apart.
She gave in to the urge to cradle him. Twining her legs around his waist, his erection was finally where she wanted it. When she rocked up, he broke the kiss, his body shaking.
<
br /> “Felicia.” His body strained, his forearms planted on each side of her head. “We should stop.”
“Yeah. We should.”
His mouth crashed onto hers, his pelvis grinding against the spot she wanted him the most. Neither of them wore much for clothing, but the shorts were in the worst spot possible.
Like he was thinking the same thing as her, he wedged a hand between them. Cool air brushed over her sex as he tugged the waistband of her shorts down. He took his sweet damn time skating his hand down her lower belly to cup her.
She bucked her hips up.
He pulled back to watch her. “I don’t like you. You’re too damn cocky.”
If he hadn’t amended his first sentence, would she have stopped? No idea, and she didn’t care. Because with the space he’d put between them to touch her, she could now see how much he shouldn’t like her.
Tucking her hand between his board shorts and heated skin, she wrapped her fingers around his thick length. “I think you’re an arrogant ass.”
A vein bulged in his forehead and his eyelids shuttered. “So does everyone else.” Slicking a finger through her wetness, he pressed down on her clit like it was a red button set to detonate.
She cried out. Biting her lips, she glanced at the door. Her guardians would think they were fighting.
He rocked his hips into her grip. She fisted him hard and pumped.
“Fuck, Felicia. Do you have to be good at everything?” He captured her mouth once again.
His fingers played her like a maestro, coaxing whimpers and gasps that he greedily ate up so nobody could hear. She swiped her thumb over the blunt head of his cock and worked him.
Panting into each other, they were primed to blow at the same time when a hard voice pierced the passion.
“Julian, open up. We have much to discuss.”
Jagger ripped his mouth off her and rolled away so fast she nearly castrated him.
His horrified gaze was glued to the dead bolt. “Mother?”
Wicked Fire: Angel Fire, book 2 Page 9
