Black and Blue oa-2

by Gena Showalter

  “Distract me,” he said.

  “How?”

  “Talk to me. Tell me about your life.”

  No way she could refuse. “Well . . . I tested out of school, and attended university at the age of thirteen. I majored in chemical engineering, my first love, but Mum made sure I took private classes on weapons technology and security.”

  He frowned. “You were too young.”

  “Yeah. Believe me, I know. Kids never let me forget. No friends, but lots of teasing.”

  “No wonder you’re so guarded.”

  “Guarded? Me?”

  He snorted. “You know you are.”

  Maybe. Okay, definitely. Letting people in was tough. Caring about someone other than yourself made you vulnerable. Left you wide open for all kinds of hurt. And if you lost a loved one? You would never be the same.

  No pain no gain, though. Right?

  Ugh. Stupid cliché. But, okay, she got the gist. Letting people in also came with great rewards. You’d have someone to rely on. Someone to protect your back. Someone to pick you up when you were down.

  “How did you become a doctor?” he asked.

  “Medicine was already in my wheelhouse. When I worked with people in drug trials, I realized I enjoyed the fruits of one-on-one contact, making individuals better. I switched my focus, and pharmacology became a hobby.” The NOW—New World Order—allowed students to dive into their chosen field without retaking subjects they’d mastered in high school. “However, I opted not to take a residency and instead came to the New States to be with Michael. He trained me for two years before sending me on that first fateful mission.”

  “I knew you were young when you started working with him, but wow. Only twenty.”

  “How old were you on your first mission?”

  “Mission, twelve. Kill, fourteen.”

  Blimey! “Now that’s bloody young.”

  “Yeah, but I trained with Michael since the age of five. He’d found me on the streets and placed me with my human family. He paired me with John and Solo. He gave me a purpose.”

  No wonder Blue loved her father so much.

  No wonder her father loved him. They’d been together a long time. Relied on each other a long time. “I was jealous of you, you know. During our first meeting.”

  He shook his head, as if he’d misheard. “Jealous of me? Why?”

  “For the entire two years I spent with Michael, he talked about you and your magnificence. ‘Blue’s so good at this. Blue’s so good at that.’ What a privilege it was to work with you, blah, blah, blah. It was quite disgusting. I’d waited my whole life to be with him, only to see his devotion directed at someone else.”

  He gave her a small, sad smile. “That explains a lot.”

  “Yeah. But it wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it’s true. I am.”

  “If I can get past it, you can, too. Stop apologizing.”

  “Are you, though?” she continued softly. “Are you past it?”

  He reached over to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear, grimaced at the smear of blood he left behind, and dropped his arm. “I really think I am.”

  Think was far better than no.

  “But even if I wasn’t,” he added, “you wouldn’t need to apologize again. You said it, you meant it with all your heart. If that’s not good enough for me, the problem is with me and you’d be better off dumping my ass.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t dump my ass,” he rushed out, and she smiled. “The only thing I’ll ever make you beg for is pleasure.”

  They reached the house before she could question him further. Her beautiful redbrick home had three sets of windows on both stories, everything lit up by strategically placed night-lights. At the side of the house, she went down, down, down the ramp into the basement garage.

  She parked and rushed to Blue’s side to offer her body as a crutch. He refused, linking their fingers and leading her inside. He-man, she thought with a shiver. Such strength.

  He took her straight to the top floor, to the suite of rooms she’d turned into a woman’s paradise. There were plush couches and chairs made of real leather and drapes of velvet, plus gilded mirrors, and cherrywood furnishings. Her favorite? The huge bed with marble posts, swathed in ice-blue fabrics.

  “Sit,” she commanded. In the bathroom, she grabbed her medical bag from under the sink.

  He was in the same place she’d left him. Standing.

  “I told you to sit.”

  “No way. The moment I bleed on your sheets, you’ll stick me with a bill for a couple thousand dollars.”

  True. “You can afford it.”

  “Not if I continue to hemorrhage cash at Chez Black.”

  Their arms brushed as she moved past him, and she gasped as bolts of white lightning flashed through her. Flushing, she set the bag on the nightstand and dug through the contents, removing everything she would need. Bullet extractor, hand sanitizer, two syringes of cell regenerator, bandages, and wet wipes. All packaged and sterilized.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t have these supplies in your purse,” he said. “Speaking of, have you added anything new?”

  “Here.” She lifted the strap over her head and handed the entire bag to him. “Have a peek.”

  As she spread a plastic tarp over the bed, making sure the protective cover draped all the way to the floor, he said, “A moon rock, a glass eye, a retractable blade, a socket wrench, and 3-D glasses.” He grinned at her. “You have to tell me. Why a glass eye?”

  “I thought you might lose a real one during the game and didn’t want to stare at an empty socket. Now, lie down.”

  He both laughed and hissed as he stretched out on the mattress.

  “Here,” she said. “Let me shoot you up with—”

  “No. No drugs. Want to stay awake and keep a clear head.”

  “You’ll hurt.”

  “I’m not afraid of pain, princess.”

  She cleaned her hands and removed the bandages he’d applied. There were two wounds, both the size of a quarter and still leaking blood. “I’ve done a little research on Arcadian anatomy since the last time we were in this position. You’ll find I’m a better doctor this go-round.”

  “You were great before.”

  A compliment? Injured Blue was sweet. She’d have to remember that. “Ready?” she asked, placing the cups on the extractor over both wounds.

  “Do it.”

  With the press of a button, the cups adhered to his chest, the camera mapped the best course for exit, and the suction slowly pulled the bullets out of his body. He cursed only eight times.

  “Not better,” he gritted. “You are definitely not better.”

  Don’t grin. “Need another distraction?” she asked. “Because what happens next is going to feel a thousand times worse.”

  “Yeah. Distract me.”

  She lobbed her first question. “Are you truly attracted to me?”

  He blinked up at her. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “You actually have to ask?”

  “Yes. I’m not even close to being your type.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “So, your real question is whether or not I’m using you for something. Thanks a lot.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. The question had nothing to do with your reasons and everything to do with my own insecurities. There haven’t been many men interested in inserting themselves into my life, not for long anyway, yet here you are and I just don’t get what I have to offer you.”

  The faint lines around his eyes softened. “I am truly attracted to you, Evie Black. And it’s a strong attraction. The strongest I’ve ever experienced. Even though I’ve tried to fight it—and that statement has nothing to do with any kind of type.”

  The strongest he’d ever experienced was with her? Watch Evie melt into a puddle of go
o. “Then what?”

  “What else? Your father. According to him, you’re off-limits.”

  So . . . he didn’t want to upset Michael. Was that why he hadn’t gone all the way with her? “Well, he’ll never know what transpires between us.”

  “He will. I’ll tell him.”

  What? “Blue—”

  “I’m not going to hide it, Evie.”

  He had a freaking conscience. Great. “Then we’ll tell him after we’ve found John. Not that there’s much to tell,” she grumbled.

  “You complaining?”

  “Well, yeah. Was that not clear? I thought that was clear.”

  Again his lips quirked at the corners. “How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

  “Why?” Could he tell she was out of practice?

  “Let’s call it curiosity and leave it at that.”

  Heat bloomed in her chest. “The last time, I was twenty-three,” she admitted.

  “And you’re, what? Twenty-six now?” He nearly choked on his tongue. “Why? How could you go three years without it?”

  “I was a bit of a wild child, all right, sleeping with any older university guy who’d pay attention to me. I was used a lot, and I started to feel dirty. At seventeen, I decided to wait for a meaningful relationship. That never happened, so from seventeen to twenty-three, I got good at being alone. Then, after Claire, I was looking to punish myself, I suppose, and ended up in some stranger’s bed, disgusted with myself. After that, my body just sort of shut down.”

  He said nothing.

  She nibbled on her bottom lip.

  “Do you think less of me now?” she asked softly. If he does, I deserve it. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back his respect.

  He could have teased her the way she’d always teased him. He could have called her a slut and a whore, or worse. But he did none of those things.

  “I don’t think less of you. I think more of you. You picked yourself up from a situation you despised. That takes a hell of a lot of strength.”

  He was a better man than she’d ever given him credit for.

  His eyelids dipped to half-mast and he grinned. “Your body isn’t shut down now, is it, princess?”

  Completely out of character, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You were right, you know. I was so obsessed with your sex life because I wanted you to be a part of mine. I’m sorry I judged you. I had no right. I think I did it because I was miserable about my own past, and misery loves company.”

  An emotion shifted in his eyes, but she wasn’t sure what it was. “I told you to stop apologizing.”

  “No,” she added, ignoring his last words. “It’s not shut down now.”

  Back to work. Before she broke down. She inserted the top half of one of the syringes inside the wound closest to his heart and squeezed out the contents. As he unleashed a stream of profanity, she did the same to the other wound.

  “Has anyone ever called you Dr. Hodad?” he growled.

  “No. And what does that even mean, anyway?”

  “Hands of death and destruction.”

  “Ha! I like that name. You may continue to refer to me as Dr. Hodad.” She cleaned his chest, then her hands. “You lost a lot of blood.”

  “This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

  “You might need a transfu—”

  “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Arcadians do not share blood, and human blood wouldn’t help.”

  “Why don’t you share blood within your own race?”

  “It creates an unbreakable bond. Remember Dallas? He said the Arcadian king fed him blood to heal him. Now the agent is forced to do whatever Kyrin en Arr tells him to do.”

  Ouch. Like Blue, Evie would rather die than become a slave.

  “Close your eyes and get some sleep,” she said. She placed another soft, sweet kiss on his brow. “I can tell you’re weaker than you’re letting on because I can’t feel your power.”

  He reached out and snagged her hand. “Don’t leave.”

  She tugged gently at his earlobe. “I won’t. I’ll be here when you wake up. Because, bluestocking? There’s no place else I’d rather be.”

  * * *

  Blue awoke suddenly.

  His body burned with desire, and he wasn’t sure why. At first. Then he realized he was in bed with Evie. Her back was pressed into his bare chest, his hand was under her shirt, his fingers splayed over her belly. Her ass was nestled against his throbbing erection.

  He remembered how they’d gotten here. Pagan had shot him, and Evie had doctored him.

  He remembered she’d confessed to not having had sex in three years. How she’d kissed his brow in a show of comfort. Twice.

  Now he thought, Screw trying to earn her trust. Screw everything. I’m taking what’s mine.

  Blue nuzzled the back of her neck and slid his hand to her breast, cupping the perfect little mound, kneading—and hissing as her nipple beaded for him. “Evie. Wake up for me, baby.”

  A breathy moan left her, and she arched her back to stretch, pressing harder against his shaft. The pleasure . . . he groaned. Supplication for more.

  “Evie. Now.”

  She stiffened. Then she rolled to her back and peered up at him, those velvety brown eyes clearing, becoming more alert—and finally heating.

  “Blue.” Not a question. A demand.

  One he heeded. “We do this,” he said. And that was the one and only warning he would offer. He grabbed her shirt by the collar and ripped the material down the center. Her bra received the same treatment.

  She uttered no protests. Even helped him discard the ruined fabric.

  He practically dove on her, slamming his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue deep, taking, taking everything. She met him with a thrust of her own, her delicious taste sending him into a maddened frenzy. But then, she always had that effect on him.

  Have to have all of her. Finally.

  He sucked on her bottom lip, holding on to it as long as possible as he drew away, then lowered his head to suckle and nip at her nipples, to flick his tongue back and forth, back and forth, and even to bite. Her nails dug into his scalp, as if to hold him where he was.

  Oh, baby, nothing can pull me away.

  Her knees rubbed against his hips, as if she couldn’t decide what to do with her legs. Then she planted her feet on the mattress and arched up, pressing her core against his erection. The increase of pleasure was almost too much, and yet, it wasn’t even close to being enough. His sense of urgency deepened.

  Despising their clothing, but not wanting to take his hands from her breasts, he used his power to remove his jeans and underwear, then hers, jerking the garments away with only a thought and tossing them to the side. The cool air electrified him, washing over him and sensitizing every inch of him, all the more erotic as heated skin met heated skin . . . as his shaft met liquid fire.

  He nearly lost what little control he had left.

  Evie groaned. “Blue. Now.”

  “Soon.” This time, he was going to learn all of her. Do everything. Play.

  He cupped her between her legs and purred his approval. “So wet, baby.” He loved how aroused she became—and how quickly.

  He teased her with a finger, and when she was riding it, trying to grind down on it, he fed her another one. All the while, her head thrashed from side to side. Her eyes were closed, her red lips moist and parted. He knew she was as lost in sensation as he was when he brought her close to the edge . . . then backed off . . . brought her close again . . . backed off.

  “Blue!”

  “Desperate?” He was. Sweat trickled from his temples. Never been strung this taut. But it was worth it to hear her moan and groan and beg. To watch her thrash.

  “Ready.”

  “Not yet.” He gave her a third finger, stretching her, this time preparing her for what was to come, and she gasped an unintelligible word. Her nails found their way to his back and scraped, drawi
ng blood.

  He’d wear the wounds with pride.

  “Hurt?” he asked.

  “A bit. But, ohhh. I need it.”

  A beautiful plea from the indomitable Evie Black. “You’re going to give me everything.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Everything. You asked for it once. Now I’m demanding it.” Unable to hold back any longer, he slid his fingers out of her. They both moaned at the loss. He wiped the wet across her lips and, as he bent down to lick it off, to kiss her deep and sure, he hooked her knees under his arms and positioned his shaft for entry.

  “Yes! Please!”

  He wanted to shove, hard and fast. He pushed in an inch. Then two.

  So tight. So damn tight.

  He gained another inch.

  Then another, and another.

  Panting, she stilled.

  “Okay?”

  “Feels so good. You’re so big.”

  Killing me. “Gonna make it feel even better.” He reached between their bodies, found her little bundle of nerves, pressed and rubbed until her hips began to rock.

  “Yes!” she cried. “Oh, yes.”

  He thrust the rest of the way in, as hard and fast as he’d wanted, and she came instantly, arching her back and screaming his name.

  He’d never felt anything as rapturous as her inner walls clenching on him. So perfect. “Tell me you can take a rough ride, baby.”

  “Yes. Please, yes.”

  Never get tired of hearing her say that word. He grabbed the headboard, pulled most of the way out of her, then slammed in with so much force the entire bed rattled. A picture crashed to the floor. And maybe his Arcadian powers had caused the furniture to levitate, because a lamp tumbled from the nightstand and shattered.

  He would pay for the damage. Gladly.

  He kept moving. In, out. In, out. The pressure must have mounted inside her, because she clutched at him, urging him to give it to her harder, faster. He couldn’t have stopped or slowed to save his life. Never had he been so overwhelmed, so overcome. So taken over, where only pleasure mattered.

  Here. Now. This woman. Mine.

  His rhythm became brutal and punishing. Exquisite. Evie grabbed him by the hair and tugged him down for another kiss. The moment their tongues met, she climaxed again, and as her inner walls squeezed him this second time, he joined her, coming, coming so hard. He roared, giving one last thrust, feeding her that last bit of his release, until finally he collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.