Warrior Forever (Warriors in Heat)

by Amber Bardan

  Thor knelt in front of me, head bowed.

  “You won the courtship.” I tossed the helmet, and reached under his chin and released the clasp of his cloak. “I love you, Thor.”

  His head snapped up.

  The look on him almost stole my courage.

  Wild . His gaze flickered with feral intensity. Was the man I knew even there?

  “I love you the way you earned it.” I pushed the cloak off him. “With my mind, and my heart, and my body.” I moved to the suit at my hips and pushed it down. “Not mating you is the worst hurt I could have.”

  He grabbed me. One hand on my hip, and pulled me to the dirt floor.

  His body covered mine—hard, armored to invincible, and so fucking hot it burned.

  “Please.” I grabbed his hair, slowing him. “Kiss me.”

  He blinked, and in that instant the frenzy cleared, and I saw him—my lovely Thor.

  His mouth slammed over mine.

  I opened and all I could do was accept him. His wild, ferocious, warrior kiss. My jaw strained wide, and his long eye tooth caught my lip.

  I tasted metal.

  He grabbed my hair in his fist. My scalp stung. I took his passion, and drove my tongue into the heat of his mouth.

  My chest flooded with feeling.

  He reared back, tearing the suit off my ankles, and hauled my legs apart.

  I shivered. He hadn’t had his suppressant. This wouldn’t be gentle the way he’d promised before. And for once I couldn’t care.

  He dropped between my thighs, face to my belly, and breathed me.

  Breathed me in as with a need-drenched shiver as though the joy of our closeness slayed him.

  Then his growling ceased.

  Something in me died.

  He went still.

  My heart kept beating but the sound turned off.

  He rose over me.

  I made my eyes stay open. Made myself watch him respond.

  “La La, what did to you?” His features contracted in anguish.

  The evil whisper in my head was back but this time only as a memory —so long as you could be bred.

  Tears burned my face.

  I breathed through my teeth. But I couldn’t say any of the things I wanted to. No explanations. I couldn’t say “I’m sorry”, because I wasn’t.

  Macca was right. I didn’t want to be his breeder.

  I wanted him to love me like I loved him.

  Unconditionally .

  He looked at me as though I’d put his Baratican steel right through his chest.

  I gasped through the tears. There was only one thing I could bring myself to say. “Am I still your only, only?”

  His expression flattened.

  My chest felt wrenched open.

  He grabbed my throat.

  Oh, god. His strength was limitless. Each finger poised with deadly power, flexing at my neck.

  “La La.” He shook with so much more than his usual vibration. “This love move forever than Warrior.”

  I let out a sob, and gripped his shoulders.

  He moved and with no preparation his cock pushed into me.

  I gasped, body jerking. Too big, His cock shoved in. My flesh strained around him. But there wasn’t any amount of discomfort that could convince me to ask him to stop.

  He pushed deeper.

  I moaned, the stinging satisfying fullness crackling through me. He squeezed my throat. My heart seemed to beat into his grip, just for him.

  He pulsed there, halfway in me.

  I couldn’t take in the air to shout. The curve on his fucking cock. It hit right there . His growling resumed.

  Vibration flooded my pussy.

  “ Oh, no…” My back bowed. Not so fast .

  He nudged up and up and up. Right there. Vibration streaked into my womb. My muscles seized. Pleasure rushed over me. I came around him, each contraction in my pussy making him that fraction too much—all over again.

  He held me still with his hand, and used the new slickness to thrust right where he was, a little deeper each time.

  A dangerous pleasure screamed with every pulse.

  “Can’t.” I grabbed at him, whole body twisting. “God, Thor, I can’t take it. Not all the way.”

  When the heck did I turn into a just-the-tip kind of girl?

  He growled, and his hand moved to the back of my neck. My shoulders strained against his grip, but he pulled me up so I saw him—fucking alien Warrior twice my size—thrusting between my legs.

  “Look see.” His other hand held my hip and he pushed from his hips. “We fitting.”

  And I had to see it. Had to watch it. My soaked, still pulsing from orgasm, pussy stretching around the craziness of his length and girth—and taking it all.

  He buried himself deep. My lungs filled with pressure.

  I stared and my eyes could hardly connect the feeling with the sight.

  He moved his hips, working in those last two inches that couldn’t possibly squeeze in.

  “Holy shit,” I shouted, and grabbed the backs of my shaking thighs.

  He had the mercy to remain still. “We fitting everywhere.”

  My pussy strained to take him. His growling sped up and he released my neck. My head dropped back. His cock vibrated inside me, from base to fucking tip.

  I screamed. Every enormous inch of him like a high-speed magic wand.

  “Turn it off.” I dropped my thighs and slammed my palms against the ground, body bowing, abdominals contracting. “I can’t again.”

  He dropped down over me, covering me, holding me still—so I couldn’t move, couldn’t get away from a single overwhelming sensation. He held firm and deep and vibrated there. The pressure in my lungs turned to a burn.

  Tension snapped through me. My nerves streamed with a current of lightning bright pleasure. Climax seized me as though I took a million vaults.

  I spasmed, shook in his inescapable grip, and gushed.

  He growled and finally moved, pulling out then rocking into me, gliding his skin against the slickness between us.

  I moaned and jerked.

  “Want mate you like this.” He rubbed his pelvis into my slipperiness as though he’d won a final prize.

  I gasped. Oh, the filthy primitive bastard. He wanted it wet and messy. Wanted to exploit the secrets he’d learned.

  He thrust again. The pull and push of his cock, sent a magnet of energy tugging me in and out of my skin. “Will start mate you now.”

  “Start?” I moaned, and tapped his shoulders. “Please finish, I can’t…”

  Holy fuck . There was no taking more of this. My body no longer felt like a body.

  I felt like a bundle of nerves and vibration—like at any moment that energy would spiral and I would no longer be .

  “Did we mate on first meeting, would hurry passion.” He gave me a solid fuck. “But wife had no mercy.”

  Sensation rocketed through me at the thrust. My eyes rolled back.

  “Now will exact all desire on you.” He grabbed my hip and flipped me over, this time onto the sprawled cloak.

  I landed on hands and knees in the very same spot he’d first laid the cloak out.

  My dirt streaked hands fisted the fur.

  He entered me savagely from behind. I fell forward. He caught me by the hair, keeping me up on my knees.

  He fucked me like that, with deep fast thrusts just for him. I took him, body jostling, aching ecstasy drawing sharper and more blinding.

  He did as promised, exacting his passion. I felt it with every pump, every tug of my hair, and each of his ragged groans—his desire for me.

  He hauled me back against him. His arms went around me, and he pushed so deep the sensation bruised.

  I sagged into his arms. His rumble softened, and he made a growling sound by my ear.

  Sweat coated me, making me feel eel-like against him. Yet somehow, I didn’t slip in his arms.

  His hands traveled over the front of me, gliding over my br
easts, rubbing my nipples, until my skin buzzed.

  I squirmed against him, his huge cock so deep, my pussy so crammed full, each shift knocked my lungs empty.

  He held my throat and moved his other hand between my legs, and touched between my folds.

  I moaned and sank back against him.

  “Mate me, La La,” he pleaded into my hair. “Mate with me.”

  He rubbed my slippery clit, and I bucked, jerking my hips, fucking him .

  He went warm against me. I rocked myself up and down his cock until another impossible orgasm shattered me.

  He fell to the side, turned me, and planted himself to his base.

  I wrapped my leg over his hip.

  He held the back of my neck, and he curled into me. His face hovered close to mine, his desperate gaze bringing me back to myself. “La La, say love.”

  His skin heated hotter. Sweat rolled over my lips.

  I press a hand to his chest. “I love you.”

  He pushed up with his cock, hard, and held. The heat turned scalding—against me, inside me, on my neck where he gripped. “Love La La.” He groaned then pressed his mouth to mine.

  I opened my lips against his, and kissed him. His whole body pulsed, and he came with a flood of hot wet vibration that turned the marrow in my bones volcanic.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I snuggled in Thor’s embrace.

  Oh boy, he’d fucked me senseless.

  Truly . I had no memory of how we even got back to his cave.

  Exhaustion mellowed my muscles like having drank a little too much, and laid a little too long on an unshaded beach.

  I pressed my lips to his shoulder, and inhaled him sharply. A gentle growl began.

  I chuckled. Looked like having mated didn’t make a Baratican any less horny. I looked up at him.

  My chest fluttered.

  He stared down at me. I’d never seen anything half as beautiful. It wasn’t even how goddamn gorgeous he was. I’d never seen anything as wonderful as the expression he wore.

  His eyes glittered. His lips turned up in a lazy lopsided smile.

  As though I’d made his whole long life.

  I touched his cheek. My arm felt as though it were filled with holiday sand. “I love you so much.”

  His smile stretched to a grin, and he nuzzled closer, pressing his nose to mine. “Love, La La. My wife.”

  I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  He ran his soothing touch up my back.

  My gaze caught over his shoulder.

  The captains suit draped over the back of the chair.

  “Thor.” I swallowed. “I need your help with something.”

  He stilled against me.

  I eased back and looked at him. “But I don’t have anything left to bargain or trade with.”

  His smile leveled. “Have worry or trouble, La La?”

  “Yes, to the worry.” I breathed in deeply, and it morphed to a yawn. “The trouble is someone else's but it's important to me to help.”

  “Not have worry.” He brushed my temple. “Not need trade for duty to care for wife.”

  I placed my hand over his, and the reassuring weight of his touch filled me with the sweetest ache.

  Yep, no denying it, I was now Wife .

  I blinked. This ridiculous amazing man was my husband, whether our customs for defining it were the same or not—the truth sang through my veins.

  He was my warrior forever.

  “Resting more.” He drew my face to his shoulder. “Will talk of help after wife recover from first mating.”

  I closed my eyes, and succumbed to his comfort. The certainty of his support wasn’t a question. I believed him. Not because he lacked the capacity to tell a lie, but because all the things that would have me doubt him no longer existed.

  I believed him, and in him, with my whole self.

  Because in this new life with Thor, there was no such thing as being let down.

  No such thing as being abandoned.

  No such this as being unwanted.

  No such thing as being invisible.

  I relaxed against him, and all the feelings washed over me.

  He'd be right from the start—there was much joy to have here.

  Read more about Leila & Thor in Book 2

  Warrior Ever After

  CONTINUE TO ENJOY CHAPTERS OF BESTSELLING EBOOK

  HIS TEMPTATION

  His Temptation Chapter 1

  I sprint up the bluestone steps winding up the side of the enormous Atlanta property to the gate and twist the handle. The lock sticks. I rattle harder and shove my shoulder into the wood.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I’m so late. So damn late. So late I don’t have the nerve to use the front door.

  I pant for breath. It’ll be fine. I’ll make it fine. He doesn’t even have to know. I’ve snuck in and out the side gate before he’s realized three times this week already. I stare up at the tall, picket gate that separates the open front of the property from the secluded back yard.

  He must’ve locked it. Gah, why today? He never locks anything. He’s hopeless like that. As though he thinks no one will have the nerve to trespass on his watch.

  I swipe my wrist over my sweaty nose then toss my backpack over the gate. My pulse kicks up speed. It’s possible his confidence isn’t unfounded. I mean, I’m half-shitting myself, and I’m meant to be here.

  I climb up on a large rock, wedge my sneaker into a gap in the fence beside the gate, and hop twice before jumping. I grab hold of the top of the gate and haul up my body. The flat, wooden pickets press into my ribs, knocking air out of my chest.

  I tilt forward, unbalanced, and let out a squeal. Something clamps around my hips, halting my face dive. A bark snaps behind me. My heart somersaults.

  Oh, no…

  Someone draws me back, steadily lifting me down as though I weigh no more than a rascally, inept-at-fence-climbing kitten. For a moment, I hover in the air, secure in a strong grip—the kind of grip you can count on. The kind of grip that doesn’t let you down.

  Then I’m up against someone else. Heat engulfs me. Heat from a body so much bigger than mine. My back slides down a hard chest, a hard body, then my feet touch the ground.

  I close my eyes. I’d rather have taken the face plunge. I can’t move forward or backward, or closer or farther away. All I can do is stand here, every sense fixed on how close we are, how neatly he lifted me, how firm his hands are at my hips, how warm he is behind me. How the raw scent of him, so masculine that it feels like some strange, primeva l déjà vu, makes my knees feel non-existent.

  And how angry he must be.

  There’s a very mean, very fucking sexy man standing right behind me, and he just found me ass-up, bent over a fence, trying to sneak in an hour late.

  My face burns. My whole-self burns.

  A warm, furry weight presses up against my calves. I breathe out, open my eyes, then sink down to pat Dixie. She leans her big, burly dog body against me. Her leash dangles from her collar.

  My shoulders clench. Dammit . I’m in real trouble. My gaze goes to the sneakers beside me and then up over long, thick legs in running shorts, up farther over a mountain of a man to a fierce, scowling face.

  I clear my throat and grasp Dixie’s leash. “Looks like Daddy already walked you, didn’t he, Dixie?”

  If it’s possible for total-scowl to increase by fifty percent, his does. Increases from total-scowl to the wrinkled-nose, top-lip-curled, super-scowl he’s literally famous for.

  Clay Colson .

  Baseball legend, construction tycoon, all-round scowling asshole.

  He squints. He always squints. Shame, since his buttery-hazel eyes would be nice to see occasionally.

  “I have a meeting this morning.”

  His voice is as rough and surly as his expression and makes my insides jolt.

  Oh, god, and by that he means I’ve held him up? I lick my lips. I’m going to get fired. I s
hould be fired. There’s one essential job requirement to dog walking, and it’s walking the dog.

  And I did not walk the dog.

  He did.

  I press a palm to the gravel path to keep myself up. The exhaustion of the morning hits me all at once. I meet his gaze, though. He can fire me to my face. That’d be the cherry on top of this cluster-fuck of a morning.

  He can be mean as he likes about it, too. Use that trademark, barking shout on me. Jab at me with that pointing finger that’s always on the front cover of the papers. Clay “The Grinch” Colson. At this point, there’s not much that’s going to upset me.

  Upset was something I dabbled in four hours ago when I was elbow deep in a toddler shit explosion.

  A twin toddler-shit explosion.

  For the novice, which I’m not, that’s two toddler-shit explosions at the same time. Twin toddler-shit explosions . Story of my life. And this morning, because my life is epic, the twin toddler-shit explosions happened while I was fielding calls from my crying mother because a pipe is leaking in my brother’s room, above his bed, and can I fix it?

  Sure . Just add plumbing to my resume. Why the heck not?

  It’s only 9:25 a.m., and I’m done. So I stare at Clay “The Grinch” Colson. Let’s get this abomination of a day over with.

  I wait, but he doesn’t remark on my lateness or on the fact he just lifted me off his gate, mid-fall. His gaze just does its daily flicker over me. That stern onceover I endure every morning that always makes me think that he maybe expects me to wear a skirt-suit dog walking.

  “Dixie can’t come to work with me today. You can stay, and give her a bath.”

  I fall back onto my backside. What is happening? Is it April first?

  How the heck am I not ass-over-heels out on the pavement?

  I clear my throat. “Okay.”

  He nods, gives me another swipe of his gaze, and makes a sound—half snort, half hiss—then marches toward the house.

  I glance down at myself and close my awkwardly sprawled legs. Maybe these shorts are a little short, but Dixie likes to run, so I need to dress for that if I don’t want to sweat myself into a puddle every day.

  Dixie flops down by my hip, tongue hanging out of her mouth. I don’t blame her. If Clay “walked” her, she’s probably had a much more vigorous morning than she’s used to. I inspect myself again. I don’t look that bad, do I? I lift the edge of my t-shirt and sniff it. Nope, no unexpected toddler puke. And it’s pink. I thought the shirt was cute when I put it on. Especially cute with the white shorts, white sneakers, and pink laces.