Chosen (Second Sight)

by Hunter, Hazel

  Mac nibbled her lower lip.

  But somehow hearing him talk about it, even though it was pretend, was so…sexy.

  It was disarming, even scary, but in some way she didn’t understand, it was definitely sexy.

  Mac’s hands were at her back, taking down the zipper of her dress.

  She’d never been with a man with whom the possibility of children was even remotely real. She’d never been in a relationship that had come close to lasting long enough.

  He lifted the dress off over her head and she realized that Mac was walking backward, moving them toward the bedroom.

  Is Mac that man?

  His smile had faded, his eyes devouring her from head to foot as he took off his tie.

  She started to unbutton his shirt.

  The buttons were a little slippery under her gloves but it was too soon to take them off. She worked carefully and, after a few seconds, the hard curves of his pecs and the shadowed dip between them appeared. Though she stared, her hands quickly moved to unbutton the rest. The corrugated leanness of his abs stood out and she could see the neat seam of dark hair that ran down their middle. She pressed her hands to his muscled chest and smoothed them outward to his rounded shoulders. The shirt and the coat road with her hands and she shoved all the fabric over his shoulders and let gravity take care of the rest.

  Mac’s entire upper body was visible and Isabelle had to take a deep breath.

  He was gorgeous. His body was always so hidden, despite the tailored suit. His wonderfully broad chest tapered sharply down to a waist that was so trim it was corded. His mounded pecs were dusted with a light coat of hair and his arms…

  “Have you been working out?” Isabelle whispered.

  He shrugged. And whether he’d meant to flex for her or not didn’t matter. His shoulders and chest rippled beneath the taut surface of his skin and a familiar warmth began to blossom between her thighs.

  As with the shirt and coat, Isabelle only unbuckled the belt and unzipped the pants. Then she dug her fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pants and tugged down–but only a few inches.

  The briefs were caught.

  Mac’s bulging arousal swelled just under the elastic band. Isabelle grasped the top of the briefs in both hands, brought it toward her, and slowly began to lower it. But, as she did, she sawed it lightly back and forth, across the sinewy length of him. Mac sucked in a quick breath. She took her time, moving the briefs lower, and watching his rigid shaft emerge until it was finally free.

  She ran her hands down inside the briefs but before she moved them lower, she briefly cupped him. Mac had clearly not expected that. His hips pulsed forward, his buttocks tight, and a shuddering breath escaped him. Her heart raced in response and her breaths came shallow and fast.

  Finally, she pulled the briefs, belt, and pants down together, letting them fall once they were past his massive thighs. He stepped out of the shoes and pulled off his socks–his every movement like an exhibition. Powerful muscles flexed beneath the warm, bare skin. The angled planes of his back, the thick slabs of his chest, and especially his tight abdomen seemed to be in constant movement. Every inch of him exuded masculinity.

  As she watched him, she unclasped her bra, took off her panties and stepped off the heels. With the exception of her gloves, they were naked.

  • • • • •

  Though fierce physical attraction had charged their relationship from the beginning, Mac knew something was different this time. Without a word, their eyes locked together and they stepped toward each other as if in a trance. Isabelle looped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he picked her up and entered her in one swift motion.

  “Isabelle,” he whispered hoarsely against her neck.

  Her petal soft entrance slid by, warm and moist, hot flesh sliding by hot flesh. Isabelle exhaled in a long, shuddering gasp, her arms tight around his neck. Almost without breaking stride, he moved to the edge of the bed and gently sat her down. As her legs dropped to dangle over the edge, he thrust. She gasped as his thighs met the mattress, rocking it.

  Isabelle’s gloved fingers dug into his sides as her back arched to accept him and, without hesitation, he plunged into her again. Her lithe torso shuddered and he felt the tight tug of her along his shaft. The curved mounds of her breasts trembled under his gaze and, as he drew back, his eyes steadily moved down her flat tummy and then to her soft mound. He watched himself entering her, felt the incredible spread of her flesh along him, and felt himself move inside. She moaned with the deeper penetration, her back arching further, her breasts heaving higher until he could no longer resist the tantalizing offer. He laid her down, put his hands on the bed, and captured a protruding nipple in his mouth.

  With a quick convulsion of her abdomen, her hips pivoted in the opposite direction. He suckled the tip of her breast, caressing the tender flesh with his tongue, and clamping it between his lips. A tiny whine escaped her, breathless and high. His tongue worked her, licking and probing the surging peak. He sucked on it and nibbled it in quick succession as her hands clutched at his back and her hips jerked frantically in response.

  Mouth-watering, ripe, and luscious, he already knew he had to have the other as well. He sucked hard, taking as much of her into his mouth as he could, as her breathing became harsh and uneven. He began to move toward the other mound but his mouth refused to let go. He tugged her and she had to twist, gasping, whimpering until finally he had to let go.

  She groaned with the release as he thrust his hips and his mouth found the plump underside of her other breast immediately. A strangled cry emerged from her throat, her head pressed back into the comforter, her back arching nearly off the bed. Though his lips gnawed hungrily on her tender flesh, he didn’t take her nipple. Rasping gasps escaped as her hips jerked up and down. He bit the soft flesh under her nipple and she bucked, moving the nipple closer to his mouth. He moved his tongue to the rounded fullness above the nipple, and she flexed, moving her breast higher. Left and right, he sucked the throbbing mound, but never the nipple. She writhed beneath him, her breath only a series of gasps, the tip of her quivering breast trying to find his mouth. Her hips pumped, drawing his distended flesh even deeper inside. He’d nearly buried himself to the hilt and, as her hips gyrated at the edge of the bed and he felt their seductive tug, his mouth closed around the stiff crest of her breast and he plunged into her center.

  Her lower body undulated with wild abandon and he sucked savagely on the engorged tip. As he buried himself with a thudding thrust, Isabelle grunted and thrashed and the nipple pulled free of his mouth. He stood to his full height, gripped her thighs, and pulled her forcefully onto his straining shaft. Her hands flew to the bed, gripping the comforter, as she groaned. He drove his manhood into her, deeply inside her now, feeling her heated core push back.

  He drew back but immediately tugged and thrust again. Her entire body vibrated with the impact, their bodies completely joined. He sank himself into her again, her slender body arching off the bed, her breasts heaving in front of him, the tortured peaks a deep and dusky red. He thrust again, his thighs shaking the entire bed. He drove up into her, finding her deepest place, just as the thought of his seed utterly filling her flashed into his mind. His one hand flew to her writhing abdomen and the other supported her lower back. Again, he speared into her with a deep and driving thrust, knowing she was on the pill, and yet not able to get the image of his life surging into her out of his head.

  Her hips ground against him, pumping furiously. Her breath came in irregular and labored gasps. The sight of her creamy and rounded hips sheathing him made him swell inside her as he claimed her–thrusting once, twice, and then a third time as she arched upward to take all of him. An unconscious rhythm had taken hold of him and though Isabelle whimpered now, barely able to get a breath, he realized he was losing control. Obeying an animal instinct he hadn’t known he possessed, he surged into her, over and over, his body intent on a single goal–to
plant his seed deeply.

  • • • • •

  Isabelle cried out as her body thrashed in Mac’s grip. She needed release. Her breasts ached for it, her sweet spot screamed for it, and yet it was just beyond her reach. Mac’s arousal was like iron, impaling her, nearly immovable. She felt the press of his hot hands at her front and back and the powerful fullness between them. He plunged into her, over and over, and she felt as though she might split. The coil of tension behind her mound had wound too high and her lungs burned as she tried to keep up with him. But their wild coupling had nearly spent her.

  The blood rushed in her ears and the pumping of her hips became erratic. But just as Mac entered her yet again, his hand rubbed down her abdomen, his thumb dipped past her mound, and he pressed down hard onto her sweet spot.

  The wave of her climax crashed in from nowhere and her throat burned with her prolonged cry of ecstasy. Mac thickened inside her and, as a shimmering spasm claimed her body, his searing release slapped into her. As her mind slipped toward oblivion, her last thought was of her gloves. Yet again the heat of the moment had overtaken her and regret intruded at not having touched Mac. But the moment was gone as a familiar rush of sensation swept over her.

  Mac groaned loudly as her clench bore down and waves of intense pleasure flowed through her. One contraction after another convulsed her and Mac’s stiff flesh jerked in response. He thrashed inside her, back and forth, as he grunted. Tremors of ecstasy erupted at her sweet spot, forcing her lower body to pump furiously, grinding herself to completion against him as the tension inside her snapped.

  Mac’s hips still thrust but now in short staccato bursts. Though her hips answered his, their movement was erratic, harsh, and unstoppable. She lifted her body to his, bucking and arching and colliding, the frenzied pleasure almost too much. His throbbing orgasm peaked and ebbed and her waves of contractions finally dimmed. Even though relief began to claim her, her arms limp on the bed, her abdomen still tried to contract. Mac’s hands landed heavily on the bed next to her, his thrusts spasmodic, his grunts involuntary. His body glistened with sweat and his hips pinned hers to the bed.

  A sweet calm began to spread through her, joining with the sheer exhaustion that was setting in. But as her eyes met Mac’s, a strange, intense look crossed his face. Though their gazes locked, lungs still heaving, she couldn’t fathom what he was thinking. As quickly as the moment had come, it was gone as Mac leaned down, sank to his elbows, and nuzzled behind her ear.

  “I love you, Isabelle,” he whispered breathlessly.

  With an effort, her arms instinctively wound around his broad back.

  “I love you too, Mac,” she breathed, as she clung to him and closed her eyes.

  His head slowly nodded next to hers and, to her amazement, his arousal throbbed yet again inside her, his hips ground slowly against hers, and his entire body shuddered with a long, last breath of completion.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Where’s Geoffrey?” the woman whimpered.

  Maurice handed the clipboard back to the doctor.

  “Monitor the hypertension,” Maurice said.

  The doctor nodded and made a note on the chart.

  “Why doesn’t Geoffrey visit?” she asked.

  Good question, thought Maurice. Why doesn’t Geoffrey visit?

  The doctor opened the door and dropped the chart into the plastic holder in the hallway. Maurice checked his watch and frowned. It was getting late. This was exactly why he’d gone into clinical studies.

  A piercing shriek came from somewhere in the hallway–somewhere close. Long and wailing, it turned into a high keening sound that managed to hurt his ears.

  Doesn’t anyone know how to close a door?

  Maurice kicked the doorstop up and let the door close but it was too slow. Though he tried to push it shut, the automatic opener at the top wouldn’t let him. The loud rattling of a bed preceded the sight of it racing by, propelled by two security guards and chased by the doctor.

  “Nooooo!” the woman in the bed squealed. “I changed…” She grunted. “I changed my mind.” She gasped. “I want to–”

  Finally, the door closed. By the time he turned back to the pregnant woman in the room with him, her eyes seemed dazed and her mouth hung open.

  Great.

  Maurice massaged the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes as he approached the metal side rail of the bed.

  “Geoffrey sends his love,” he said, finally looking at her.

  If only he could just sedate her–sedate them all.

  For a moment, he considered it. The saline drip was already in place.

  “But I want to see him,” she whined quietly, her wide eyes still staring at the closed door.

  Maurice nodded and tried to muster a sympathetic look. High blood pressure was serious and she was four days overdue. The woman’s mental state was going to play a part in keeping the baby safe.

  “I’ll let him know,” Maurice said.

  “It’s been days and I–”

  “I said I’d let him know,” Maurice said.

  The woman’s lower lip began to quiver.

  Maurice grimaced, imagining the effect on her diastolic pressure. He reached to the rail and took her hand in his–as much as could be permitted by the leather wrist restraint. He held her fingers between his palms and remembered to stroke them. Human touch could play a part in reducing stress. Her other wrist was too far away, secured to the far railing against the wall.

  “Geoffrey’s going to stop by as soon as he can,” Maurice said, patting her hand. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “We’re hoping for a girl,” Isabelle said, holding on tightly to Mac’s arm.

  Geoffrey smiled knowingly and nodded.

  To Isabelle’s surprise, he wasn’t unpleasant to be around–as long as Mac was near. She held his bulging bicep close, leaning against him, probably more than she needed. For as long as she’d known Mac, he’d either been dressed in a suit or not dressed at all. The tight jeans and polo shirt were a very pleasant change.

  He’d gone over the plan several times in the morning. If the Green Earth Commune was trying to change the planet one child at a time, they’d give them one. Kayla and Daniel had shown up pregnant and become members, Mac had reasoned. There was nothing to suggest that he and Isabelle would be treated any differently. The only part that worried her was the argument.

  According to Mac, one of the few things that characterized prospective cult members of all types was being in a time of stressful transition. Her and Mac’s willingness to join, turn over everything they owned, was going to be an easier sell if they were already under stress. Though the web site and the presence of a few men said that guys did become members, they obviously didn’t join as regularly or stay for long.

  “I love little girls,” Geoffrey said, apparently without an ounce of self-consciousness. “So much easier than boys.”

  He had met them at the gate and walked them up the gravel path as he had the previous times. The three of them walked side by side, Isabelle in the middle.

  “I wish you’d told me you have a boyfriend,” Geoffrey said, chiding her. “I could have shown you the couple’s quarters last time.”

  “We’re not really all that sure we’ll be doing this,” Mac said. “We’re just kind of curious about what you do.”

  “Of course, of course,” Geoffrey said quickly. “Just a look around.”

  “Right,” Mac said.

  As he had on the aborted tour with Susan and on the private tour with her, Geoffrey pointed out the fields, described what they were growing, how they fed the homeless and were off the grid. But as they approached the main house, they veered off to the left, toward the tiny bungalows and not the long dormitories.

  “Most of these are empty,” Geoffrey said. “You could have your pick. We don’t get as many married couples as we’d like.” He paused. “You did say you were married. Right?”

  �
��Uh…no,” said Isabelle, gripping Mac’s arm a little tighter. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not for me,” Geoffrey said with a little laugh. “Not at all. We’re not here to pass any judgements. At least I’m not.” He led the way up the narrow path and opened the front door. “After you,” he said.

  Like the dormitory, the bungalow was spartan. It was essentially a bedroom and, through the only other door, they could see a small bathroom.

  “No kitchen,” Mac said, not sounding too pleased. “No refrigerator?”

  “We like to dine together,” Geoffrey said, smiling pleasantly. “We plant, harvest and prepare our meals communally as well.”

  “I see,” Mac said.

  “Now, honey,” Isabelle said, taking her cue. “Don’t be like that.”

  “We’re a drug free community as well,” Geoffrey continued as though he hadn’t heard them. “You might have seen that in the videos on the web site. That includes tobacco and alcohol.”

  “This just gets better and better,” Mac said, tugging free of her grasp.

  “Mac,” she said, whining a little. He stalked to the bathroom and peered in. “At least we’d be together.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said loudly as he turned.

  “Nothing!” she said. “I’m just saying–”

  “Look,” he said loudly, glaring at her. “If this is about the whole moving-in-together thing, I’ve already told you how I feel.”

  Isabelle winced at the harsh tone in Mac’s voice. It’d sounded so real. She stared at his cold eyes, the flaring nostrils, the grim set of his mouth–and fought a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “But I feel the same,” she said, without thinking.

  “Of course you do,” Mac sneered. “That’s why we live apart.”

  “That’s not how I want it,” she insisted, her heart beginning to pound.