by Julie Kenner
I find his cock, hard and thick and velvety smooth, between our bodies. He’s rigid, and I have to rise up on my knees to position him, but when I feel the head of his cock at my core, the sensation is almost enough to make me lose my mind.
I’m desperately wet, and I tease both of us for a bit before lowering myself onto him. But it isn’t enough for him, and his hands are at my hips and he’s thrusting me down, impaling me hard upon him. I cry out, not from pain, but from the glorious sensation of being completely taken. Utterly fucked.
“Christ, you feel good.”
I say nothing. At the moment, I’m really not capable of forming words.
His mouth closes over my breast, and I suck in air sharply at the overwhelming sensation of his mouth sucking hard on my nipple even while he pistons me so wildly. I press my palms to his shoulders, wanting leverage, and bring myself down even harder, faster. I am craving him like a woman starved, and in that moment, I cannot imagine not being connected like this. Not feeling him inside me. Not riding him hard.
“I want to do everything to you.” He lifts his head from my breast and tilts up to look at me. His eyes burn like blue flame, and I feel like I could fall inside them. “There is nothing I won’t give you. Nowhere I won’t take you to give you pleasure.”
He kisses me, long and deep, then slides his finger into my mouth. I suck it hard, and with each tug I feel the corresponding pull in my sex and the tightening of my muscles around his cock.
But that is not what he wants, and even as he tongues my mouth, he slides his hand around to tease my ass with his now-damp finger. I cry out in surprise at the intimate contact. I’ve never gone there—never wanted to with anyone else. And yet I want it with Raine. I want him to fill me completely, and I feel as though there is nothing he can do—no way that he can touch me that I would deny him.
“Touch yourself,” he whispers. “Tease your clit. I want to feel the storm building inside you.”
That is something else I’ve never done with other men. Oh, sure, I’ve gotten myself off after I sent them running, if they failed to take me all the way. But with them watching? That wasn’t something I wanted to share.
Now, though, I do not hesitate. As I had done for show earlier, I slide my hand down and finger my clit, using long strokes so that I can not only tease myself, but so that I can feel the slick heat of his cock as he moves in and out of me.
I am lost in a sensual feast. His cock deep inside me. His finger teasing my ass. His mouth on my breast, and my own hand playing with my clit. My legs are wide, and I am riding him hard, and he is thrusting so deep inside me that it feels as though he is completely filling me.
“You’re mine.” He growls out the words, his mouth capturing mine before releasing it just enough to speak, the words so close that it feels almost as though I’m saying them. “Come with me now,” he says, even as he releases into me, his body thrusting violently and heightening my own pleasure.
“Come for me,” he growls again. “And come back to me…”
Even as he makes the demand, he thrusts his finger inside me and impales me hard on his cock so that I am utterly and completely filled. And as if I am bound to obey this man, my body soars upward, then shatters into a million pieces that seem to dance and swirl and mesh with Raine, who is spinning up in the heavens with me.
It is wild and wicked and wonderful, and then slowly, so very slowly, I begin to reassemble in his arms.
“Mmm,” I murmur, certain I must be the most thoroughly fucked woman on the planet. “La petite mort.”
“Why do you say that?”
“That’s what the French call an orgasm. The little death. As wonderfully destroyed as I feel right now, I think it’s accurate.”
He chuckles, then shifts me so that I am more comfortably on his lap. I trace my fingers over his tattoos. “I like them,” I say. “They suit you.”
“Do they?”
I hear humor in his voice that I don’t understand. “What’s funny?”
“You’re more intuitive than you realize. Those tats are my little deaths.”
I frown, completely confused. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter. Right now I don’t want to talk. I only want to hold you.”
As if in contradiction to his own statement, he presses the button for the intercom. “Dennis,” he says. “Take us to Number 36.”
He releases the button without receiving a reply, then turns to me. “My home.”
I nod, but even as I do, I feel something cold twisting inside me, as if it is determined to push away everything wonderful that I’ve just felt with this man.
I let him hold me, and in his arms I feel warm and safe. It scares me, in fact, how comfortable I feel with Raine because I have never felt this way before. I’m self-aware enough to know that I sleep with men to fill a hole, but it just seems to get deeper every day. And the truth is, I never walk into sex expecting anything but the physical exhaustion that can take me out of myself.
I certainly never expect a connection. Never expect to fill that hole, even if just a little.
And yet with Raine…
I shift in his arms and sit up.
“Cold?”
“A bit,” I lie as I reach for my bra and put it on, then follow with my panties and jeans. He is still naked, as stunningly beautiful as a vengeful god with his marked skin wild against the black backdrop of leather. And even though I am sated, my body responds, even as my mind starts to pull back.
“Is this what you don’t usually do? Go home with men you’ve just met?”
I smirk. “No. I do that more often than I should.” My admission surprises me, and I glance at him, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just curious.
“Then what did you mean earlier? When you said you don’t usually…what?”
I don’t usually have expectations other than sex. I don’t usually feel anything before being with a man.
I almost tell him that, and I have to cut off my words before I reveal too much of this emotional stew that is filling me.
I tell myself I don’t want to go there; I don’t want to feel a connection I don’t understand.
I am, of course, lying. There’s little I want more. Isn’t that what I keep telling Kelly? That I feel there’s someone out there. Someone who fits me?
And doesn’t she keep telling me that I have to open myself up? That burning through men like a book of matches is a bad idea? That I don’t have to project my mother’s abandonment on every potential relationship.
I know that she is right. I even know what I want.
And yet I also know that the possibility that I may have found it in this man is terrifying.
What if I’m wrong? What if I expose too much of myself? What if I get too close and just get burned?
“Callie? What is it? What did you mean?”
“Just—nothing. I just ramble when I’m nervous.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
I pull my still-bare feet up onto the seat and look at him, strong and powerful and entirely in control. “Honestly? Yes.”
He reaches for his shirt and shrugs it on, apparently realizing that I’ve moved into the land of serious conversation. “Why?”
“I—I’m sorry. This is—This is bigger than I expected.” I lick my lips, looking with mild panic at the brownstones rising up alongside the limo as it slows to a stop. “It doesn’t just scare me. It terrifies me. I’m sorry, but I need to go home.”
“Stay.” The command in his tone is unmistakable. “I told you, all I want to do is soothe you.”
I am tempted. So very tempted. But I shake my head. “This has been amazing. Beyond amazing. But I can’t stay with you tonight.” I need to get clear so that I can think. Because the one thing I definitely can’t do around this man is conjure a cohesive thought.
His hand closes over my wrist, and as I melt just a bit from the contact, I can only wish that his touch didn’t have such sensual power over m
e. “I told you, Callie. I’m never leaving you again.”
The words resonate through me, as if touching some deep core, but I force myself to shake my head because I need to run. “I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t matter. Because you’re not leaving me, Raine.” Gently, I pull my arm free. “I’m sorry. But right now, I’m the one leaving you.”
Chapter 5
I stand on the street, breathing hard, my thoughts spinning.
My entire adult life I’ve been looking for something. And for the first time, it feels like maybe I found it.
So what the fuck am I doing running away?
“You crave intimacy, Callie. And yet you run from it.” Kelly’s words seem to fill my head, and though I try to shut her out, she just keeps on talking. “Perhaps it stems from the loss of your mother when you were so young, perhaps something else. But until you understand why you’re afraid of getting close¸ you’re never going to have a fulfilling relationship. And you are too extraordinary a woman not to open yourself up to love and friendship.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. And I take a single step back toward the limo. It’s still curbside, the door still open. I cannot see through the tinted glass. I have no way of knowing if he is watching me, and yet I am certain that he is. Watching, but not coming after me, and I am grateful for that small mercy because I have to decide this for myself, and I fear that if he steps out of that limo and holds out his hand to me, that I will rush into his arms and let him take me inside Number 36.
I want that—so help me, I want it so badly I can imagine how it feels. The sensation of my feet flying over pavement to meet him. The impact of my body against his as his arms close around me. The hard demand of his mouth against mine.
And yet there’s something else, too. Fear.
Kelly would tell me to examine that fear and push past it, but as a therapist, that’s her job. As an assistant district attorney, I know that isn’t always the best thing to do. Sometimes fear is a good thing. Sometimes fear tells you to run, to save your own life.
Ignore that instinct and you do so at your own peril.
I’ve seen it time and time again on the faces of too many victims. In the photographs of too many corpses.
I do not believe that Raine would hurt me physically, but I am desperately afraid that the intensity of my desire for him isn’t real. That this connection I feel with him is nothing more than an illusion, because how can it be real? How can someone I’ve known for less than a day have seeped so far under my skin when no one else in my entire life has been able to do that?
The world is already taking my father from me, and I don’t think I can stand the pain of being wrong about Raine. Of getting close and losing him, too.
And somehow, I am certain that I will lose him. That he will draw me close, and then let me go.
No, that’s not entirely true. What I’m certain of is that he already has let me go.
I frown because I know the thought makes no sense—I just met the man, and I know damn well he would welcome me into his arms. And yet I cannot shake this certainty. This feeling.
This…memory?
I roll my eyes at the thought. Clearly, the night has rattled me more than I realized. Which is all the more reason to just walk away.
Better to hold tight to the passion and joy I felt in Raine’s arms. Better to cherish it like something wild and precious and fragile, and to pull it out for comfort when I feel lost and alone.
Better all that than to open the door to pain and fear and heartbreak.
And so I make the only decision I can.
I turn away from the limo, and I walk away, heading toward Madison, where I can turn and continue toward 59th Street and home.
* * * *
Raine fought back the rising sense of desolation.
She’d left him.
The thought was…well, it was unthinkable. After all this time to have found her again—and, yes, he was certain that he’d found her—only to watch her walk away.
He wanted to run after her, but he quelled the urge. He knew her. He’d recognized her essence the first moment he saw her, and when he had entered her—when she had exploded in passion in his arms—the last of his doubts were swept away. But he understood that the same was not true for Callie.
She had felt a pull, of that much he was certain. But she didn’t know the origin of it. And the intensity of the connection scared her.
He may not like that simple fact, but he could understand it. And he could give her time.
She would come back to him—or he would go to her.
Either way, he could be patient.
He’d been alone for three thousand years, thinking her lost to him forever, believing he was condemned to an eternity alone. He could wait a little while longer while he decided what to do.
Not too long, however, as he still had to find the amulet. And to do that, he might have to press Callie before she was ready. Unless, of course, he could find another way.
He considered his options as he looked out the window toward Number 36. The five-story brownstone had been owned by the brotherhood since the late eighteen hundreds, when it had been acquired after the first occupant died in an ill-conceived duel and the property was put on the market to settle his considerable debts.
The first and second floors housed a gentleman’s club, Dark Pleasures, which Mal had established in 1895 despite some in the brotherhood’s protests. But Mal had been insistent, and one did not cross Mal, especially not after an encounter with Christina, when the rage and regret flowed through him.
And ultimately, all of the brotherhood had to agree that the club served a valuable purpose. There was no denying the usefulness of a central meeting place. A place to talk. To bring potential resources and informants.
And, most important, to be themselves.
Though the club did have mortal members and staff, the brotherhood was selective. And no one but the brotherhood was permitted in the VIP room.
That was where Raine intended to go now. Though part of him wanted nothing more than to retire to his apartment on the top floor of Number 36, he had a duty to discuss the amulet with Liam and Mal, his superiors. And he had the need to discuss Callie with his friends.
* * * *
“Checkmate.” Malcolm leaned back in the plush leather armchair, then took a puff from the cigar he held. Across the table from him, Dante frowned as he studied the chessboard. Then he blew out a breath, took a long sip of scotch, and used his thumb and forefinger to topple his king.
“Son-of-a-bitch.”
“You should know better than to challenge Mal,” Raine said as he approached and took a seat in one of the two empty chairs that surrounded the table on which the chessboard stood.
“What can I say?” Dante replied. “I’m an eternal optimist.”
“I think ‘fool’ is the word you’re looking for.” Mal’s grin was smug and cool, just like the man himself. He calculated everything, never misstepped, and handled the power and responsibility of being one of the brotherhood’s two leaders with unerring precision and devotion. Raine loved all of the brotherhood, but it was to Mal he most often turned. And it was Mal who most understood his pain, since he carried the weight of a similar burden.
“And this is all I have to say to you,” Dante retorted, displaying his middle finger.
Mal’s lips twitched, and Raine sat back in the chair, glad to be back in New York and among friends.
He glanced over as Jessica approached from across the room, then bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead before handing him a glass. “Macallan. On the rocks. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking a welcome sip as she sat on the arm of his chair and studied his face. He kept his expression bland. Jessica was a healer—and he knew she was searching for injuries—but she had the ability to see so much more than that.
Across the table, Liam settled into the empty chair, his broad shoulders a
nd well-muscled body filling the seat. He was the second leader of the brotherhood, and no one looking at him would doubt that. There was power and control in every one of his movements, and he had only to enter a room to command it.
Now, his eyes flicked from Jessica to Raine. “Just back from the field, and the first thing you do is flirt with my mate?”
“Not the first thing,” Raine corrected easily. “And no. I know better than that.” He shot Jessica a wicked grin. “She’d beat the crap out of me.”
“She damn sure would,” Jessica agreed cheerfully, then squeezed his hand before circling the chairs and settling into Liam’s lap. He drew her close, then kissed her passionately, and though Raine was used to the way the two of them couldn’t keep their hands off each other, tonight it ate at him. As if their affection was eating a hole through his gut that only Callie could fill.
He forced himself to look away and found Mal’s eyes bearing down on him, his expression questioning.
Raine met his glance mildly, not yet willing to give anything away.
After a moment, Mal seemed to relax. He leaned forward and stubbed out his cigar, then returned his attention to Raine. “The mission?”
“A success.”
“Kirkov is out of the picture?”
“He’s dead.” Raine pressed his fingertips to his temples. Not simply because he could so vividly remember the Bulgarian serial killer that Phoenix Security had been hired to locate and terminate, but because he knew where this conversation would inevitably lead.
“And the fuerie?” Mal asked, referring to the malevolent energy that it was the brotherhood’s sworn duty to hunt. “Was there time for it to transfer?”
Raine tipped his glass back and finished his scotch. “It’s over, Mal. I took Kirkov over the Asparuhov Bridge. He was history at impact, and there was no one around the fuerie could enter.” He lifted the glass, remembered he’d already finished it, and silently cursed.
