by Angel Lawson
“Can I come in?” His voice is gruff.
“Of course,” she opens the door and his eyes sweep down her body—her skin-tight pajamas. Astrid glances out the door and locks eyes with Owen. He jerks his chin up in approval. Approval of what?
She shuts the door and feels him before she even turns around. His heat. His hunger. Everything that’d been bubbling under the surface for weeks. His fingers touch her shoulder and travel down her spine. The chill runs through her, heightening all her senses, raising goosebumps on her skin and setting her belly on fire.
Even without her echo she would know what he wanted.
“In the box I realized I was wrong,” he confesses, his breath warm on her ear. “Completely, fucking, wrong. What was I thinking, holding back on a woman like you? Taking it slow? Trading on borrowed time?” His hand clenches around her hip, his lips sear into her neck. “We aren’t the kind of people who have time. We’re the people that live on the edge—court danger and death.”
She gets it, goddamn she gets it. The box was hard. Awful. The absolute worst. Lonely and deprived, and inside her deepest fears surfaced--what if she never saw them again? What if she never saw him again. Without tasting him. Touching him. Feeling him deep inside?
It’s a regret she’s not willing to carry. Not any longer.
The restraint she’s been holding for weeks now with him cracks and she turns and tugs him by the shirt. “I don’t want to wait any longer either.”
There’s a switch, a flip, and his mouth crashes into hers as he pushes her into the door. His lips taste like sugar, his tongue sweet and sweeping. Astrid’s body ignites against the force of his, every part of her wanting what she’s resisted for so long.
“Take me,” she tells him, wanting him to be in control. He needs it, she craves it. His hips push into hers and he lifts her, slamming her back into the wood. She cries against the hard pressure in his pants, desperate for friction. Desperate for him.
“I’ve never wanted someone—or something so badly.” His hands graze over her breasts, skimming her nipples with his thumbs. They harden and peak and he squeezes them together before planting a kiss between them.
He lifts his chin and they’re face-to-face, nose-to-nose, she licks his mouth and speaks again. Her words are true, deep from inside her. “Fuck me, Draco.”
At her words, his heart kicks into high gear, thudding like a man on speed. His fingers, agile and quick, push at the hem of her shirt.
Her skin itches against the fabric, begging to be freed; she tugs at his shirt, wanting to feel his flesh against her own. He drops her to her feet, giving them a chance to remove their shirts. Off they go, one after the other, landing a few feet away. His body is perfection. Actual perfection, and her eyes drink him in. He plants both hands at her sides and kisses her again, blazing a trail from her mouth to her neck to her shoulders. When he gets to the sensitive spot between her breasts, Astrid arches her back and flattens her hands against the door. He’s not done, not by a long shot. She has no doubt Draco is a diligent man, even revved up like an engine. He licks at one nipple while twisting the other gently between his fingers. She mewls, feeling the wet heat between her legs. She told him to fuck her but dammit, this is good too.
It's only when she reaches for him, grabbing his hard length with both hands, that he picks up the pace. She knew he was large, but she wants to see him. Feel him, and even if his hasn’t, her patience has run out.
“Take these off,” she says, pointing to the soft cotton of his jogging pants. He tugs the string and they fall, giving her an eyeful. His cock bounces in the air, a heat-seeking missile.
She’s a willing target.
He grabs her again, lifting her into his arms. He doesn’t go back to the door, instead walking over to the bed. She feels weightless in his massive arms and he proves this further by tossing her on the bed like a feather. She bounces and laughs at his playfulness, but it’s cut short by the intense look in his eyes. Her belly flip-flops and he reaches for her booty shorts and tugs them off, eyes widening at the sight of her exposed body.
“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?”
It’s an impossible thing to answer but the way he looks at her, she feels beautiful.
They’re both naked now, fully revealed. There’s no doubt about his arousal and god, she can smell her own. Draco grabs her hips, kisses her mouth, and says, “Do you trust me?”
Her fingers graze the soft velvet tip of his cock. “I do.”
His next move is quick, sure, and he flips her to her stomach. He pulls her to the edge of the bed and a shiver runs through her body. Draco, normally predictable, is not and when he leans her over and pushes against her backside, she braces her hands on the bed, he says, “I can’t wait to be inside you.”
She’s never done it like this, where she can’t see her partner’s face, but she wants to. God she wants to. “Please. I want that too.”
Reaching around her, he dips his fingers between her legs, feeling the wet warmth. His breath is hot on her neck and his cock grazes her ass. She bends over further, wanting to feel him.
Oh yeah, she fees him.
The hard length of his cock eases between her legs and runs across her core, she’s slippery and it makes him slippery, too. The tip runs over her clit, bringing her a thrill and she groans, wanting more. Much more.
She wanted him to take control—own this—and he does, entering her from behind. Something unlocks when he’s fully in, expanding, stretching her insides, and Draco’s long body covers her back, and he goes for her hands. Her bare hands. They clasp right when he begins to move and it’s a jolt to her system. He may have her in the submissive role, but this? She looks at their hands, feeling the rush of his echo spilling into her. He’s giving her everything.
Astrid; the first time he saw her months ago. Astrid; standing in her suit. Astrid; laughing on the couch, standing in his room, lying in his bed. She feels the restraint, the absolute thin string of self-control he had every time they were together. He skips to the time in the box, the fear, so much fear and god, something else. Something that blooms from his chest and hits in the here and now.
Love.
Love. Love. Love.
It comes in the rhythm of his thrusts. It’s sealed in the sweat between their hands, their bodies.
Damn, he fucks her, but it’s more than that. He pounds into her and she holds on for dear life. The feelings wave over her, mind and body. She hears his heart pounding, his breath catching. She feels his ecstasy building and his echo shifts, growing lost—foggy but she doesn’t care, the feeling is still there and she’s no longer in the here and now. She’s gone to a higher place, one where he has to wrap his arm around her waist to hold her up. One where he feels so, so good and her body aches with every thrust. One where she wants him to go faster and slower at the same time. Make this last forever, her mind begs...
Tip me over the edge, she pleads…
Draco, a man of his word, does both, shattering and taking her along with him, while letting her know through his echo that this is just the first of so many times.
He may have claimed her body, but she touched his soul.
“I get it now.”
“What?”
He’s playing with her fingers and she’s curled against him, half asleep, trying to decide if they should do that again or just rest. Tomorrow is going to suck, which means either could make it better.
“The bond. The connection. I felt it the instant I buried myself in you.”
She wants to laugh at the word “buried”, it’s so literal and so very romance novel (yes, she’s read a few) but it’s also true. “It makes us stronger as a team.”
“I believe that now. Before, I admit it, I wasn’t sure.”
She touches his chest and looks up at him. “I know it can be overwhelming, but I promise it’s a good thing. It’s clear we need one another more than ever now.”
He kisses her and it triggers the
butterflies in her belly. They’re different than before. Those were about what could happen. These are from knowing what does happen between them. They’re more intense. Her craving for him hasn’t decreased the slightest. If anything, it’s worsened. She kisses the area above his heart and feels the stirring beneath the covers. His hand cups her breast.
Astrid makes a decision.
Fuck sleep.
Fuck the tests.
She hitches a leg over Draco’s and eases herself over his hips. He swells beneath her and she heats in response. If there’s any experimenting going on tonight, it’s going to be in this bed.
Unsurprisingly, with a grin on his perfect lips, Draco agrees.
14
Quinn
“What I need to know,” Astrid says when they enter the testing facility the following day, “is where the hell is my cat?”
Owen nods vigorously next to her. “Seriously. Harry has a lot of needs. Someone has to be there to give him his morning cheese.”
Quinn watches the exchange with interest—not because he cares that much about the cat, unlike Owen, but because he’s been wondering about the gym and everything they left behind, too.
Dr. Monroe pushes her glasses up her nose. Now that he’s not so exhausted, he notices the fine lines around her eyes and mouth and the gray streaks in her hair. “Jensen is taking care of arrangements in Crescent City. The cat, your business, employees.”
“Jensen.” Her lips turn down in a frown. There’s no doubt Astrid is still salty with him. He took them all by surprise announcing his connection to all of this, including being Demetria’s mentor. “I suppose he knew about all of this too. Well, my cat better not be dead when I get back or there will be hell to pay.”
Owen mutters his agreement, as well as tossing a few threats.
Dr. Monroe raises her eyebrows like she’s asking if they can move on. Truthfully, he has a lot of questions, so many he doubts the woman has the time to answer him, so he keeps quiet and waits for instructions. All of this seems surreal, but if she predicted bringing them to this place and stressing them with the tests would motivate them, she was right.
He glances at Draco, who has been quiet all morning. There’s no mistaking the blissed-out glaze in his eyes. He’s seen it in Owen’s before and reflected back in his own. Making love to Astrid changes a man and he’s glad they finally crossed that bridge. Even if the noise did keep him up half the night.
“The testing will come in three phases. Physical, supernatural, and mental, you’ll do a round of each. By bringing you in here blind, we were able to get a solid assessment of your actual abilities so we know where to begin.”
Astrid grunts at that. Okay, she’s salty about a few things.
Monroe pulls her tablet to her chest and says, “Would you like to see your new suits?”
“New suits?” Draco asks with interest. He has been paying attention. Owen perks up as well.
“Yes, the boxes had scanners inside. They processed your exact size and muscular build. The tests gave us the data we needed to give you maximum protection built directly in the fabric.”
“Our old suits were good,” Quinn tells her. He doesn’t like Casper’s work being discarded.
“They were,” she agrees. “Adequate, but Casper’s materials were limited. He gave us his notes and these are built from his designs as well as Atticus and Holden’s.” Her eyes hold his. “This is a team effort, Mr. McCrae. It always has been. Always will.”
He notices Astrid’s eyes dart to Draco’s. They’re one. He gets it and to his shock, so does Monroe.
“Okay then,” Owen says, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s suit up!”
There’s no doubt in Quinn’s mind that Casper was involved in the development of the new suits. Not because they are amazingly state-of-the art, perfectly suited to each of their needs and incredibly effective, no, but because Astrid looks like the sexiest vigilante of doom he’s ever laid eyes on in the black leather outfit that hugged every inch of her curvy body. The one thing he forgot was extra room in the crotch of his pants to contain his raging hard-on when she walked in the room. Damn.
She’s focused on her belt, touching all the little tools attached. Her cuffs are newly designed just like the baton and the coiled, electrified whip on his hip. Draco rubs his shield with his thumb before flipping it onto his back, and Owen tinkers with the pockets on his pants, the ones that hold a variety of objects that help him in a fight.
The suits are lightweight and flexible, the boots sturdy but not too heavy. Fire- and water-resistant, with an added layer of Kevlar to prevent bullet wounds.
“I feel like a knight,” Owen says, beating his hands against his chest. Astrid flicks her eyes at him and then over to Draco while adjusting her gloves. The heat still boils between them, and if they don’t watch out, it will bubble over and consume them all.
Four techs walk up and Monroe says, “Ready?”
They all agree and Quinn fidgets with the fingers of his protective gloves. They allow him to control the current strength on command.
A tech takes each one of them in an opposite direction. He feels his heart kick in watching Astrid walk away. This may be the dumbest thing they’ve agreed to. He’s not sure he can protect her here.
The tech positions him in front of a door. It’s a woman, and she says, “Once you step in, the test will begin.”
“Which kind is it? Mind, body, or simulation?” he asks.
“You’ll find out once you enter.”
He exhales, controlling his nerves. Of course. They need clean data. That’s what this amounts to. It’s all about data.
The door slides open and the light is so bright he can’t see anything. He pulls on his mask—because yeah, they gave them those this time—and turns it on. The schematics adjust and he steps inside. It’s the simulation. Not a jungle. Not anything he’s done before, but he knows where he is the instant the virtual world becomes clear.
There’s a man walking toward his car. A man he knows, and a lump forms in his throat. Not real. Not real. Not real, he tells himself. But that doesn’t stop him from moving quickly, running down the street and calling the man’s name.
“Holden!” he shouts.
He looks up. But not at Quinn. In another direction, and that’s when he sees him. They both do. A man dressed in black.
“No!” Quinn says, but his feet feel like they’re made of lead. He knows the end of this movie but he’s here. He can stop it. Right?
Holden says something to the man and the man replies, their words too quiet to hear. But he does see the gun, the glint of the barrel, at the same time Holden does. His mentor recoils, pushing his back to his car.
Quinn scrambles and runs as hard as he can but he hears the gun fire. He watches Holden fall against the car. The man walks away and Quinn is faced with a decision. Go to the man that raised him or follow the man that shot him.
The mask shows him Holden’s heartrate dropping. His blood pressure slowing. He knows the end. He knows it. He lived it. But if he got one more chance…
He looks between his mentor and the shooter, the seconds slipping away, and does what the simulation wants him to do. He makes a choice.
15
Quinn
“That,” Astrid says, climbing the stairs to the second floor of the house, “fucking sucked.”
Quinn hadn’t said a word since he left the simulation. He knew there was no failing of the tests. They were experiments, a measure of reactions, how they used their abilities, the choices they made, their strength.
He runs his hand over his face.
Knowing that and feeling it are two different things.
“What did you do in your session?” Owen asks her. The blond looks shell-shocked, maybe more than the rest of them. What did they make him see? Do?
“You know we’re not supposed to discuss it,” Draco says.
“What?” Owen gives him a sharp look. “Suddenly we’re playing by the r
ules?”
“Fine,” Draco says, stopping at the landing. His boulder-sized arms cross in front of him. “Go for it. Share first.”
Quinn looks back and forth between the men. Owen holds the massive man’s stare and sets his jaw. It dawns that Draco’s calling his bluff. No one is going to tell what happened in their tests, because they were all equally bad. Whatever it is they all just went through was deeply personal, challenging, and possibly reveals a weakness no one wants to share.
“I’m taking a shower,” Astrid declares. “And going to bed.”
Owen catches her arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just need sleep and a little decompressing.” The firm way she said “sleep” made it clear. None of them were to interrupt her tonight.
The three men go to their separate rooms and Quinn washes the day from his body. He’s wound up ten different ways. Astrid was right. That did fucking suck. Dragged out shitty memories. Forced him into inconsequential decisions.
He leans against the tile in the shower, hot water pouring over his weary muscles, and tries to think of something better. Something good.
His mind goes directly where it always does.
Astrid.
Every time he thinks of this woman, his woman, he starts with her eyes. The turquoise-blue that looks past his face and his body, burning deep into his soul. He knew the instant he met her, even in the chaos, that she was the one for him. That he’d do anything for her.
His thoughts wander, conjuring up her body, the curve and swell of her tits. The lean hardness of her stomach, the way it tapers into the widening of her hips, the round arch of her ass.
His cock twitches—tightens—and he exhales into the steam. Soap gathers in his hand and he lazily strokes the length, thinking about the way she moves. The way the leather curves around her body, accentuating her hips, her breasts and everything in between. He closes his eyes and recalls the way she tastes, the way she looks above him. Damn, damn, damn…he picks up speed, feeling the tension in his lower stomach, deep in his balls.
