Blood in the Water

by Cleo Peitsche

  And he needed to be fast, before the mating urge took his choice away.

  So he pressed deeper, and he held her to him.

  Her hips moved slightly—she was orgasming—and Koenraad relaxed just enough control to ruin the evening for them both.

  There was no pleasure in his climax. It was just a physiological release, nothing more, and thank goodness for that or he would have been rocking into her.

  She didn’t immediately realize what had happened; as his cock began to soften, the spurs retracted, and her hips twisted against his.

  It was almost amusing, though he knew she’d be pissed once she figured it out. And that was going to happen… any second now.

  Yeah. There it was.

  She pulled away from his mouth to stare at him. Except she obviously couldn’t see anything in the darkness; she was looking at his hair, not his eyes.

  He pulled her close, pressed a kiss to her temple.

  As he swam up, he knew he was going to get an earful. Still, he couldn’t help but grin. Monroe liked tempting the shark, but she hadn’t planned on the man being stronger than the beast.

  They broke through the surface. The storm hadn’t abated, and Koenraad knew it was going to be a long night. The next day would be interesting. Trees would be down, parts of the island would be well flooded.

  He brought Monroe to shore, and he carried her out of the angry waves because he didn’t want her to get knocked over.

  As he set her on the ground, she brushed locks of tangled hair out of her eyes. He loved looking at her when she was drenched like this, her dark lashes like ink, her cheeks healthy and reddened.

  She looked up at him and smiled a little shyly.

  He frowned. He’d expected any reaction but that.

  Her smile froze. “Ohmigosh, you think I’m laughing at you,” she said in an anxious rush, her fingers over her mouth. “I’m not. Koenraad, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  She shook her head a little too fast, like she was hiding something, and Koenraad’s eyes narrowed. “Not upset at all,” she insisted. “It could happen to anyone.”

  “To anyone…”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Suddenly, he understood. He threw back his head and roared with laughter until his entire body shook.

  “Ok, now I’m getting mad,” she said hesitantly. “What’s so funny?”

  He had to catch his breath before he could answer her. He shook his head; he didn’t trust his voice in the least.

  “Koenraad Van Buren, what the hell is so funny?” Her arms were crossed over her chest, and fury flared in her eyes.

  “Nothing,” he said, his voice strangled. “Thank you for being so understanding about… my shortcoming.” The laughter gripped him again, and he took Monroe’s shoulders and turned her, pushing her toward their brightly lit temporary home.

  He was so distracted by trying to hide his amusement that it wasn’t until they were standing inside the house, dripping water onto the floor, that he realized her wounds had stopped bleeding.

  His spurs were sharp. She’d been cut several dozen times.

  And she’d healed already?

  “What’s so funny?” she demanded. “I really don’t like being laughed at.”

  He dropped to his knees and forced her legs apart.

  “Koenraad,” she said with a soft sigh. “We can try again later. You don’t have to—”

  His fingers pressed into the area where she’d bled. Her skin wasn’t even red.

  But that meant… she was healing even faster than a week ago.

  And a week ago, his blood had been much fresher in her veins.

  He thought about how she hadn’t burned through oxygen when they were underwater. He’d been so distracted by lust that he’d just thought she was calm, but as he thought about it, he realized she’d been nervous.

  He looked up at her.

  “What?” she asked, a crease of worry appearing across her pretty brow.

  “You… you’re… I think my blood is somehow…” He trailed off. He hadn’t smelled his own blood when they were in the water. He’d smelled hers. But her blood wasn’t capable of this kind of healing.

  “You have to see Spencer tomorrow,” he said.

  “Koenraad!” She jerked away. “What’s going on? First you’re laughing like a maniac, now you’re staring at me like I’m a freak. You’re scaring me.”

  He rose. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I cut you when we were in the water.”

  She nodded. “Right. Yeah, I know. It’s fine. You don’t have to feel bad. I wanted—”

  He shook his head. “That’s not it at all. You’re healed. Something’s happening with the blood.”

  She ran her fingers over her skin and craned her neck, trying to see. “Are you sure I’m healed?”

  “Positive.”

  “It must be your blood…”

  “It’s not.”

  “Well…” She shrugged. “That’s not exactly a bad thing, I guess.”

  “No, but it’s unheard of. There aren’t even myths about this sort of thing. It simply doesn’t happen.”

  “I can’t see Spencer,” she said suddenly. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. My mom is flying down tomorrow.”

  Koenraad found himself blinking in surprise. “Your mother?” He shook his head. “Not a good idea, Monroe. Victoria won’t be leaving town until the end of the week.”

  “It’s too late. She bought a ticket.”

  “Tell her the hotels are booked. We’ll buy her another ticket to come down in a few weeks.”

  “Koenraad! Are you serious? This is my mother. She’s freaking out because I never came back from vacation, and she wants to make sure I haven’t joined a cult or something.” She was getting more distressed by the second.

  “Right,” he said, blinking and shaking his head a little. “Of course. I’ll get two more bodyguards.”

  “No,” she said. “No way. If you do that, Mom will drag me back to New York, definitely. She’ll think you’re a drug kingpin or something.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Bodyguards and money and…” She gestured at him vaguely.

  “What?”

  “You.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked, bewildered.

  “Your pupils. They’re always blown.”

  “If she’s going to think that, she’ll think it whether there are bodyguards or not,” he said reasonably. “In which case, I’d feel better knowing you’re both protected. I understand why you don’t want me making ironclad decisions, but that’s the deal. Bodyguards. I’m not budging on this.”

  “Or what?” Monroe demanded.

  “Look, I’ve had a really long week. I had to put Brady into a fish tank. I’m worried about his safety. Please don’t make me have to worry about you.”

  “You don’t fight fair,” she said softly.

  “Not when it comes to your well-being, no, I guess I don’t. Please, Monroe.”

  “Brady’s in a fish tank?”

  “An aquarium,” Koenraad conceded. “It makes the inlet seem like an ocean by comparison, but he’s fine. He can’t hurt anyone, which is the important thing.” Koenraad struggled to keep his distress about Brady off his face. “Are we in agreement on security for you and your mother?”

  “Can you have the bodyguards stay in the background?”

  “No.”

  She sighed.

  “But I’ll do you one better,” he said. “We can tell her it’s part of a special tour package. They’ll drive her, show her the sights.”

  “Four tour guides?”

  “Two. The other two will stay out of view. See, a compromise.”

  She nodded. “Ok.”

  “Good. But you’ll have to see Spencer in the morning. He’s flying to Boston around noon.”

  Monroe smiled. “Was that our first real fight?”

  Koenraad shook his head. �
��You’ve screamed at me at least six or seven times since we met.”

  “What? I have not.”

  He tugged at his ear. “Could you speak up? I have a hard time hearing after all the yelling you’ve been doing.”

  Then he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and took her to the bedroom.

  After what had nearly happened in the water, sex in a comfortable bed didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter 12

  The slide of Koenraad’s damp skin over her stomach and breasts as he carefully set her on the floor made Monroe whimper.

  He raised her chin to make her meet his eyes.

  She expected a kiss, but instead he leaned in close, penetrating her with his shifter’s probing gaze.

  “What—” she started to ask, but then Koenraad’s thick fingers thrust into her pussy. Her legs instantly went weak.

  He was just doing this to make up for earlier, she knew, but that didn’t stop it from being any less effective. Her chest tightened and her eyes closed as Koenraad’s twisting fingers whipped her into a frenzy of desire.

  But she didn’t want to come. She wanted to do something for him.

  “Wait,” she said, and his hand stilled. She pushed him away and fell to her knees.

  His thick cocks weren’t fully erect yet, but they were getting there. She grabbed them in her fists and pulled them to her mouth.

  Slowly, she pressed one thick head over her lips. Both cocks stiffened.

  His deep moan was quiet, but she heard it, and that was all the encouragement she needed. As she sucked the swollen head, she pumped her fists on both shafts at once.

  Then she gave some attention to the second cock.

  Koenraad’s moan was louder, and he was breathing heavily. He swayed slightly on his feet.

  She wanted to feel him come in her mouth so badly that she salivated. She felt herself gush wet, and she knew he could smell her excitement.

  The spurs hadn’t come out, and she sucked one thick shaft into her mouth, running her tongue around the swollen ridge of his head.

  “No,” he said, pushing her gently until his cock sprung free of her lips.

  She rocked back on her heels to look up at him. “What?”

  “If you want sex, get into bed.”

  “But I want to suck you. I’m not worried about you hurting me—”

  “I said no. Get on the bed.”

  Her cheeks burning with shame, Monroe stood and walked to the bed, the sheets still rumpled from her earlier nap. It was hardly the first time he’d turned her down for oral sex, but it still rankled.

  She wanted to do this for him. Sometimes at night, she dreamed about sucking him, about frantically licking both shafts, taking both heads into her mouth.

  Weren’t men supposed to be crazy about oral sex? And he always seemed to be enjoying himself before he stopped her. That was clear.

  So what the hell was the holdup?

  She turned, arms crossed. The expression on Koenraad’s face was almost somber enough to make her change her mind about pushing the issue, but she had to know. “Are you ever going to let me suck you off?”

  He hitched an eyebrow. “Yes.”

  She stared. When he didn’t volunteer more, she decided to push. “When?”

  “When it’s right,” he said, his voice low, rumbling.

  “And you’re the sole arbiter of that. There’s nothing I can do?”

  “You can do something,” he said, and she noticed that one corner of his lips almost seemed to tighten into a smile.

  Now he had something to say, but she wasn’t going to beg to hear it. She’d done enough begging already. So she stared at him, and the wind screamed outside, and her hair dripped, sometimes running down her breasts or her buttocks and calves before pooling on the floor.

  Koenraad tilted his head to study her. “I don’t think you’re up to the challenge,” he said.

  She knew he was needling her, but that didn’t stop it from working. “Bring it on, fish boy,” she said.

  “Fish boy? Inaccurate.”

  She smiled. “I’ll have you know that I looked it up, and sharks are nothing but fish. You’re practically a guppy.”

  He grinned and stepped so close that she nearly flinched. “That’s not the part I’m disagreeing with,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated in the places he’d been teasing all evening.

  He wrapped a hand around her neck and leaned closer. “I’m not a boy.”

  Then, before she realized what was happening, he’d thrust one of his cocks between her legs.

  The unexpected penetration made her face go hot, and her entire body shuddered. He had her pressed up against him, and he held her with one beefy arm wrapped around her waist. His knees were bent, but her toes still barely brushed the floor.

  “No one will fuck you as well as I can, Monroe,” he said. “I feel everything you feel. I can smell your arousal, your fear. I know when you’re close. I can taste it on your skin.”

  “Then you know,” she gasped, “that I’m not afraid to suck you. I’m up to the challenge.”

  He lowered her until her feet were flat on the floor, then he pulled himself free from her. She grabbed at him, but it was too late. He was fast when he wanted to be, and he was walking out of the room, giving her an unobstructed view of his broad, muscular shoulders, his rock-hard hamstrings and ass… and of course, those scars.

  A moment later he returned, a hand behind his back. His gaze was focused. “Here’s my challenge,” he said. “Meet it, and we’ll do sex however you want.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “You promise?”

  “I would never lie to you,” he said, his expression serious. He revealed the hidden hand, and Monroe groaned when she saw that he held the rubber knife.

  “You can’t imagine how much I hate that thing,” she said.

  “Oh, I have a pretty good idea,” he said as he held it out to her. “Stab me, and you’ll get what you want.” Wet blond hair slid from where he’d slicked it back, and he shook his head to get it out of his eyes.

  “You do realize that dick-sucking is a privilege,” she said.

  He nodded. “That’s for a little extra motivation. The thing is…” He fixed his dark blue eyes on hers. “… We didn’t have our session today.”

  “There’s no point,” she said, frustrated that he was thinking about that when they were in the bedroom. “If Victoria gets me, I’m as good as dead anyway.”

  His face paled, the teasing smile plunging into a frown. “No one is going to get you, but I don’t think basic self-defense is a waste of time. And I’m not only worried about Victoria. There’s Bamboo Menendez, too. Someone wants to kidnap you.” Koenraad set his jaw. “Either we do it here, or we go into the ocean and do the shark attack thing. Or we don’t practice, and we just go to bed.”

  The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t playing around. She so very badly wanted to point out that it was easy for him because he’d had his big orgasm whereas she’d been getting more and more worked up.

  But that would be mean.

  And anyway, he had gotten her off when they were underwater.

  He pushed the knife’s handle into her palm and stepped back. “Come at me,” he said.

  Irritated, she moved her feet apart and bent her knees slightly, the way Koenraad had taught her.

  He raised an eyebrow, and she rushed at him.

  It wasn’t like before. The one thing he hadn’t tried was to train her when she was actually angry at him.

  Right now… yeah, she wanted to slash him with a real knife. Forget the rubber.

  But he didn’t look surprised as he danced out of her way. Of course he didn’t. He could read her. He knew she was pissed.

  “Come on,” he said. “Remember what I told you about misdirection? About feinting?”

  She circled him, her eyes trained on his.

  She moved left, then stumbled right, then turned, slashed.


  He evaded her maneuver. “Good,” he said. And he seemed to mean it.

  So many times he’d wrapped himself around her and moved her limbs, showing her how to slash, how to stab. She knew she wasn’t going to pass for a trained fighter anytime soon, but the knife’s weight didn’t feel as unwieldy as usual.

  Now he lowered his head, and she knew what that meant.

  The point of these sessions, after all, was for her to reflexively be able to defend herself if someone attacked her.

  Usually she freaked out. After all, a guy of Koenraad’s size was intimidating, even if the attacks weren’t for real.

  But she was still hyped up on adrenaline, and instead of freaking out, she did as he’d taught her. When he tried to grab her, she stepped to the side and swung at him with the knife.

  She missed him completely… But he missed her, too. Or he pretended to. He nodded approvingly.

  They went a few more rounds.

  “Very nice, Monroe,” Koenraad said as he stepped away. “I’m going to do some holds now.” He held out his hand for the knife, but instead of giving it up, she tossed it onto the bed.

  He came up behind her and grabbed her firmly, both his arms around hers, pinning them to her torso.

  He didn’t always restrain her in the same way. Sometimes he covered her mouth, or grabbed her hair.

  “Stomp,” he said. “Come on, Monroe. You can do this. You won’t hurt me.”

  She didn’t wait for him to prod her again, instead choosing to get ahead of the lecture. Even though she wasn’t wearing shoes, she drove her heel into his instep as best she could. Then she did it again, harder.

  He wanted her to kick his knees, to grab his crotch and twist with all her strength. To elbow him in the ribs, to shove the heel of her hand into his throat, his nose.

  She couldn’t do those things, though, but she mimed them.

  “Again,” he said.

  So she did it again. She never put any real force behind these movements, but at least the sequence, the idea, was thoroughly engrained. It felt like a silly dance, but she did it because she knew it made him feel a little better.