“You’re playing with fire, and—”
“Those who play with fire get burned.” She mocked his tone. “Deeper.” She tightened her hold on him, urging him forward.
He opened his eyes to look down at her.
Boldly, she met his gaze and rolled her hips. “Deeper.”
He gritted his teeth as he carefully pressed forward, easing into her grasping heat.
Resistance.
She pulled back, pain and fear twisting her lovely face.
He stopped, soothing her with calming strokes and soft words. His eyes, his voice, and his touch conveyed he would not stop but would wait.
Comfortable, she would roll her hips, boldly calling him deeper.
Forward. Stop. Wait. Over and over. Until he thought he could stand no more. He withdrew entirely, then plunged forward.
Resistance gave way to reward.
He trembled with building orgasm. Such a tight, delicious heat around him. Such a full maddening scent filling his mouth and nose. He was delirious with pleasure. A primal bellow welled up inside his chest as he pinned Mary to the bed. Took her. Filled her. At her own insistence.
Big hands to her slender hips, he grasped and yanked her down as he thrust up, impaling her fully, answering her need for penetration with the wicked thrust of his hips.
With a growl, she sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, nestling him more firmly, frantic to deepen the connection between their bodies.
Her sitting up tightened her around him almost unbearably, and he clutched the edge of the bed. “Lie back. Oh gods, I can’t—”
She kissed him, surging against him, lustful and passionate, gripping heat tight along the length of him, almost crushing him like a wet, slick fist. He didn’t think he could resist any more.
“I can taste myself on your mouth,” she whispered against his lips.
He uttered a growling moan, unable to hold the building fury of his orgasm. Grasping her hips, he slid her up and angled himself above her.
Watching her face, he struggled to slowly slip in and out of the maddening heat of her body. His arms, balancing him above her, trembled not with his weight but with the weight of restraint. He didn’t want to go slow at all. Every primal force in his body urged him to thrust hard until the fire in his body abated.
But Mary lay below him. Open, vulnerable, welcoming him.
She licked along his shoulder, then nipped his neck. “I can’t wrap both my legs around you, but”—she wrapped her left leg around his body and tightened it. Strong, her slender leg held him as she rocked her hips up—“I can still force you deeper.” Her gaze darted between the mirror and his eyes.
He lowered himself to his elbows. “I can’t last much longer.”
“Surrender to me, Michael.” She lifted her hands over her head and relaxed her leg.
Stunned, captivated, he watched her face as he rocked ever faster to her. Need burned in his body. The luscious smell of her dominated his senses. Her beautiful eyes widened, her head went back, and she matched him thrust for wicked thrust.
“Surrender to me, Michael.”
Her breathless command shattered the last of his restraint. He came so hard it hurt. Pleasure, so long awaited, rippled his body again and again as he pushed deeper.
She clung to him, wrapping her body close despite her cast-bound leg.
Gasping, shaking, he sought her mouth and kissed her as he moaned over and over, “I love you, Mary. I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Curled to his side, Mary listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He’d said he loved her, but that might be what lovers said in the heat of the moment. She wondered, because for the life of her, she’d wanted to scream out those same words at the top of her lungs with every thrust of his beautiful body.
Michael. Not a vague shadowy fantasy from a book, but a man. Flesh and blood, skin and bone. Mysterious, masterful, fascinating, dangerous. The embodiment of everything erotically male. Michael. Her captor and captive.
“Did I hurt you?” Cupping her face, he gazed at her with a touch of panic.
“No. You didn’t hurt me at all.” When she kissed him, she could still taste her own passion on his lips. “I feel wonderful.”
“Granted.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Does that one word mean Commander Arrogance feels good too, or is he just being—”
He kissed her silent. “I feel wonderful.”
Snuggling to his chest, she felt safe for the first time in her life. She had no regrets. Contentment, a peace, so foreign yet so longed for, filled her, and Mary fell asleep within moments of curling herself to him.
Sometime later, she awoke from a strange dream. Jumbled bits and pieces that made no sense when strung together yet had a curious common thread. An answer hovered just beyond her grasp.
“What are you doing?” he asked with a sleepy voice.
She turned over, settled her cast-bound leg on a pillow, and pressed her back to his chest. “Go to sleep. I’m just dealing with my stupid foot.”
Against her cheek, she could feel him smile. “Just think, my lady, only seven more weeks. Once we get that cast off…”
Tight against his hard, warm and wonderfully naked body, she drifted back to dreamland as she thought about the ways they could maneuver their athletic bodies together. On the edge of a satisfied smile, her eyes went wide as all the pieces fell into place.
Smart guns.
His planet.
Techno-house.
Another round of civilize.
Midas and Cibola.
Michael Parker.
A puff of his warm breath tickled her ear.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Overlord.”
“Don’t call me that,” he said with a sleepy groan. “I hate that nickname.” He kissed her neck and went back to sleep.
What a fool I am.
The truth had been staring her in the face the entire time. Her feet had landed on Windmere. Her captor, the compelling Commander, was her hero and her fantasy lover, Michael “Overlord” Parker.
Red-hot anger and horrified embarrassment surged through her. The man she trusted her body to had tricked her. How he must have laughed at her behind his smiling eyes. Him demanding she not think of Overlord when he was in fact him. He must have had to stifle himself every time he looked into her passion-filled eyes. And now her pretty green dress would end up in his closet with all his other trophies.
None of the nasty tricks ever played on her were as humiliating as this one, because this time, she’d trusted. She’d believed him. She’d believed in him. She’d thought him only a man who intrigued her as much as she did him. She’d thought the passion they shared had been mutual, reciprocated and honest.
Flashed moments of her life filled her mind. The test sheet posted for public view. The cookies laden with salt. Feet outstretched to trip her in the aisle. Tacks on her chair. Gum in her hair. Mud in her lunch pail. Dates made for dances and her waiting patiently by Emmet’s side for hours until she finally went to bed biting back tears. Bobby Jameson.
Every betrayal she’d suffered paled before Michael’s. She’d learned long ago to guard her heart, to pretend indifference, to push away any human affection. Until her hero seduced her virginity out of her with consummate skill. Her heart cracked under the tide of shame and humiliation.
“I trusted you.”
“Hmm?” He pulled her tighter into his sleepy embrace, but she moved away and carefully slipped from the bed.
House turned the lights on so low, the room filled with a warm peach-sherbet glow. “I’m only going to the bathroom.”
With a growl of acknowledgment, he rolled over.
Fighting back tears, she yanked on the black camisole and the pine-green silk shirt and skirt. One thing she’d make damn sure of, she’d set fire to her dress before she’d let him hang it up in one of those trophy-stuffed closets.
Christ! He’d seemed so sincere. He’d be
en so gentle. His golden-brown eyes seemed filled with passionate need. Had she been right all along and seducing her was just a game to him? Strange irony in the situation; all her young life she’d wanted to give her virginity to Overlord. Turned out she had without even knowing, while he laughed the entire time.
Hobbling quietly on her crutches, she rounded the big bed. She approached the door with careful steps. Just where did she think she would go? Her bracelet wouldn’t let her—her gaze darted to her bare wrist.
She searched the floor and found her bracelet, his wrist com and the slender alloy key, all in a heap where he’d dropped them earlier. He’d taken them off, saying he trusted her.
Confused, conflicted, she bit her bottom lip, pondering what she should do. In the end, she slipped his com on her wrist and her bracelet on his and pocketed the key.
He didn’t wake. Gazing down at him, she wanted to kiss him goodbye but wouldn’t let herself fall any further under his spell. She’d get over the pain and humiliation. She always did.
Considering her bracelet on his wrist, she fumbled at the top of her cast, found a small bit of plastimirror, and dabbed a fingerprint onto the bracelet with her pinky. It might cause some problems for him. It might give her a few more moments to make her escape.
As she entered the main room, House obligingly turned on the lights for her. Her window-reflected ghost followed her across the edge of the beautiful grand ballroom. She looked up and admired the fully lit mythical murals on the ceiling for what would be the last time.
At the main exit, she hesitated as she considered the com unit on the wall next to the massive, double-hung door. Could she activate the unit? As soon as she lifted her hand, bound by Commander’s wrist com, the screen flickered to life.
Flipping channels, she found the hall on the other side of the door. The camera swept back and forth over the hall.
Two guards played cards at a post near the doors that went into Commander’s office. Amazingly, the guards kept their backs to the hall. She didn’t see anyone at the other end of the hall that led out to the tarmac.
She waited until the time felt right. “It’s now or never.”
Grasping one gigantic gold knob, she twisted and pulled. Sliding slick as skates on ice, the door opened for her. Fast as she could, she hobbled down the hall away from the guard post.
The rubber tips of the crutches and her bare foot barely scuffed against the slick marble floor. A patch of muddy wet prints almost knocked her on her ass, but she recovered, and pushed on, her heart thudding so hard she shook.
Turning left, she ducked into the next hallway, where she found another com panel. She used the wrist com to activate the unit in order to clear the next hallway. Running with an odd hopping gallop, using secondary hallways, she went to the tarmac.
High-intensity lights lit the whole base with a surreal amber glow. As soon as she opened the door, the stench of fuel mixed with rain assaulted her nose.
Damp and cold, the night air pierced the thin silk of her clothes as she splashed through frigid puddles. The gritty water-slick tarmac scraped her bare foot, but the pain only spurred her on. If she didn’t escape, he would probably kill her. What use did he have for her now? She’d given him her secrets and her body. What more could he possibly want from her?
I love you, Mary. I love you.
His gasping words rang in her mind and resonated in her heart. She hesitated. Not a single person in her life had ever said those powerful words to her, not even her adopted parents. She could stop this now, return to House and demand to know why he’d tricked her about his identity.
Terrified that he’d only laugh in her face, jeer at her humiliation, she surveyed the staggering array of ships. She skipped over the obvious choice—his sleek cruiser—and considered the less likely ships.
Whisper sat at the far end of the compound.
Kraft’s ship gleamed under the amber lights, looking fast while standing still. Mary intuitively knew Whisper was the only ship they wouldn’t automatically shoot down.
As she hobbled toward the slender cylinder, the clearer the truth became. Michael didn’t love her; he loved Kraft and always would. For whatever reason, Mary had become a convenient stand-in for a ghost. As humiliating as she found that truth, she could also make the dead woman work for her by stealing her ship.
Opening the hatch awkwardly as she balanced on her crutches, Mary entered the ship, went to the bridge and threw herself in the pilot’s chair. She quickly assessed the controls. “Whoa.” Half of the stuff she didn’t know how to name, let alone operate, but that didn’t matter. Get the ship airborne, break atmo, and she could get home. She wouldn’t stay there, but she’d be able to warn Emmet, and with this ship, she could get him somewhere safe.
“Or die trying.”
As if waiting for her, Whisper rumbled to life with a throaty growl.
Yanked from sleep, Duster bolted upright, spilling his sheets and blanket to the floor. “Michael’s doing what?”
“Commander Parker is in Whisper, but he won’t acknowledge our communications,” MacKay repeated.
“Michael didn’t file a flight plan?” Duster jammed his legs into his beige strex pants, yanked them up and stomped into his thick-soled boots. His stomach rolled with a sickening lurch. “Why didn’t you ground the ship?”
“Sir, the scanners indicate Commander Parker is flying Whisper.”
“And he’s violated SOP before.” Duster yanked on his multitask vest with a groan, remembering the crazy things Michael had done while grieving Kraft. Duster feared Michael had fought with Mary and was now drunk off his ass and doing something very stupid. “Tap the com on the ship. See if we can get a visual.”
“Yes, sir,” MacKay acknowledged.
Duster set his wrist com to repeatedly page Michael’s wrist com. The page settled into a low drone. Within ten minutes, Duster entered base command. He settled himself to the main op-pan. His wrist com pinged and he heard:
“What do you want, Duster?”
The voice stopped him cold. “Mary.”
“Surprised?” she asked cheerfully.
“No.” Duster wasn’t surprised in the least. He’d told Michael not to underestimate Scary Mary, but apparently Michael decided to use his rectum for a hat, because he clearly hadn’t listened. Despite his anger at his boss and best friend, Duster calmly asked, “Where is he?”
“Who?” Mary asked sweetly. “Co-man-dur?”
Duster didn’t respond.
“Commander, Overlord, Michael Parker—whatever his boot-licking toadies call him—is he who you’re looking for?”
Duster let the insult slide. She now knew exactly who Michael was, but his bigger concern was how had she managed to get into a ship, and not just any ship but Whisper, and how was she registering on the scanners as Commander Parker?
Duster tapped frantically at the op-pans, trying to stop her. It would help if he could figure out how to stop her short of killing her. With a flick of his finger, he could obliterate her but didn’t dare. He had a strong inclination that Michael would kill him if he shot down Whisper or Mary.
A sinking in his gut made him tap more pointedly at the op-pans. Duster couldn’t confidently shoot down any ship until he confirmed the location of his boss. All his scanners indicated Commander was aboard Whisper.
Muting the com to Mary, Duster said, “House, show me Commander.”
“Commander is not within my parameter,” House responded.
After triple checking the scanners, Duster ordered all the guards to stand down. Unsure if his boss was on that ship or not, he wouldn’t take the chance.
Mary opened the visual link on her main console. Her tear-streaked face glared at him with such fury, he flinched back. She didn’t say anything, only looked at him, until he unmuted her com link.
“How you two must have laughed.”
Stunned, he dropped into a chair. “What?”
“Remarkably Average Mary gets tricked a
gain.” She wiped her tears away with a clenched fist. “Hands down this is by far the most elaborate joke I’ve ever had played on me. Why you two would bother, I don’t know, but I hope you both had a good long laugh at my expense.”
“We didn’t.” What had Michael done to her now?
“Yeah-huh. You two didn’t laugh. You couldn’t get enough breath to laugh after the first week of screaming hilarity.”
“I never thought of this as a joke.” Guilt pierced him like a blade. All of this stemmed from his grand idea to pull Michael out of his depression by giving him a puzzle to play with. Duster never would have willingly engaged Mary in such a scheme.
“You know what’s really funny?” She tossed her head and gave a little laugh. “I told him why I liberated his goods and then—oh, don’t laugh yet, because to top that off, I had sex with him too.” She burst into angry laughter. “Imagine the fun you two will have slapping each other on the back over that: Remarkably Average Mary not only gave out, but she put out.”
“Tell me where he is.” Foreboding shot along his spine. What had Scary Mary done to Michael?
“He said he didn’t want to hurt me. Christ! For not wanting to, he sure enough did. Had he wanted to? I guess I’d be dead about now.” She lowered her voice. “I’m lucky I’m getting away with only a broken foot and damaged pride.” With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, “Oh, yeah, I’m also getting away with his prized ship.”
“Mary, please tell me where Michael is.” Duster realized he had no bargaining chips. Brute bellowed commands would only infuriate her and cause her to cut all communications.
“You think I killed him,” she said flatly. “How could I kill the man who took the last bit of my innocence?”
Duster wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what that meant, so he turned his attention to the scanners. House showed Mary in her room and confirmed Commander Parker in Whisper, even though Duster could clearly see Mary over the audvid.
With a groan of shocked disbelief, Duster lifted his gaze to Mary. “You put your bracelet on him.”
Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 Page 23
