Dream Warriors 2: Ryder

by Cyndi Friberg

  Jolts of pure excitement shot down her spine, electrifying her senses and dragging a moan from the back of her throat. He cupped her breast, rolled her nipple, his tongue moving in her mouth. He tasted of honey and cinnamon, passion and tenderness. Her head spun. He enveloped her senses so completely, she could only think of him, of their need for each other and the passion in his kiss.

  His fingers glided along her side, tickling her ribs. He caught her gasp and giggle in his open mouth. Caressing his way from her waist to her inner thigh, he avoided the heart of her desire. Teasing her legs, her hips, her knees, he touched her everywhere but where she wanted his touch most.

  Restless and wanton, she canted her hips, parting her thighs in silent invitation. Ryder pushed her legs up and back, his gaze boring into hers. “Hold your legs open for me.”

  Sheri grabbed the backs of her knees and maintained the brazen position. His gaze never left hers as he pushed two fingers into her aching core. She moaned. Her inner muscles rippled, welcoming the penetration.

  His gaze narrowed and his lips parted. She could just imagine how she felt. Hot, wet, so ready to be filled by his thick length. He pulled his fingers nearly out and captured one of her nipples between his teeth. She gasped as the unexpected nip triggered pulsations in her clit.

  She needed his touch there on the swollen nub hidden in her folds. “Please,” she whispered as he moved his mouth to her other breast.

  “Please what?” He suckled firmly as he waited for her answer. Her nipples tingled, her core throbbed, and her skin burned.

  “Let me come.”

  “I’m not stopping you.” He licked her, flicking his tongue against her hardened crest as his fingers slid in and out in slow, shallow strokes. She needed fast and hard. He gave her soft and slow. Closing her eyes she concentrated on the tension coiling inside of her. Could she will herself to orgasm? God, he made her ache.

  His soft hair brushed against her inner thigh, and she opened her eyes. She watched his golden head descend between her widespread legs. Anticipation built to a fever pitch as she waited for the first stroke of his tongue. Using only his mouth, he parted her folds with his tongue and circled her clit. Yes! He moved his fingers faster, deeper, circling her over and over again.

  Blissful sensations detonated inside of her, cascading along her nerve endings. She arched, her body, clutching his fingers rhythmically. A soft, contented sigh escaped between her parted lips.

  He stayed with her, licking, stroking until the last wave of pleasure faded. Licking her essence from his lips, he grinned like a contented cat. “Are you ready for fast and hard? My greedy body wants you badly.”

  She glanced down at his massive erection and returned his smile. “I can see that.”

  “Do you want to go upstairs, or can I ravish you right here?”

  “If you’re going to ravish me, it shouldn’t really be my choice.”

  He chuckled and cleared her desk with one powerful sweep of his arm. “Good point.”

  Only her computer remained on the far corner of the desk. Thank God his arm wasn’t longer or she would --

  He pulled her up out of the chair and bent her over the desk. Her breasts pressed against the smooth wood. She gasped. “That’s cold.”

  “Well, this is hot.” He eased his hand between her thighs, sliding his middle finger between her passion-slick folds.

  She relaxed her legs, making room for his stroking fingers, but he was beyond foreplay. He positioned his shaft, then moved his hands to her hips. His first deep thrust drove her forward, raising her feet nearly off the floor. He groaned. She cried out, surprised by the pressure and fullness. Her core stretched tight around him, caressing him with its pulsing rhythm.

  He gave her a moment to adjust before he moved in earnest. Hard, deep, he thrust to the hilt into her welcoming heat. She clutched the desk as he pounded into her, his hands firmly holding her hips. Overwhelmed, consumed -- ravished, she surrendered completely to passion’s demand.

  In a frantic flurry of motion, he pulled out and turned her over, lifting her legs to his shoulders and driving back in with hardly a pause. Sheri stared into his eyes as he moved hard and deep within her body. Intense with myriad emotions, his gaze devoured her as surely as his body filled her, completed her.

  Tenderness swelled, augmenting the carnal pleasure. This was deeper than desire, richer than passion. She had no idea how it had happened, but this was love.

  He gritted his teeth and tossed his head. She lifted her hips and took him deep. Pleasure detonated in her body and radiated through his. They clung to each other, shaking with the force of their simultaneous release.

  Chapter Nine

  The following morning, Sheri sat at the kitchen table with Ryder, enjoying a quick cup of coffee before heading off to work. Waking up in his arms had almost convinced her to call in sick again, but with Meagan’s recent crisis, the Bentel-2 project was behind schedule and over budget. Everyone was encouraged by their progress, but still, Sheri couldn’t play hooky indefinitely.

  “I’ll request assignments that correspond with your work schedule as often as I can.”

  She nodded and set her coffee cup down. “What did you do while I slept?”

  “Last night I just held you, but I’m sure there will be times when I’ll have to work.”

  “Do you need Morpheus’s permission to move your headquarters here?”

  He offered an elaborate shrug. “This has never been an issue before. No other Dream Warrior has had this option.”

  A burst of golden light and sizzling sparks erupted within the kitchen. Sheri covered her face with her forearms. Ryder rounded the table and stood in front of her.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “What brings you here?”

  Sheri peeked around him at the woman now standing in the middle of her kitchen. Regal, haughty, her cold dark eyes took in the scene surrounding her. Her gown was fine white linen, banded about with golden braid. Piled atop her head, her glossy brown hair had been arranged in an artless fall of curls.

  “Morpheus offered to explain, but I wanted to speak with you myself.”

  Ryder had called her “Your Majesty.” Was this Hera, queen of the gods?

  “I’m honored.”

  “Oh, drop the humility, Ryder. We both know you despise me. As many times as Zeus has strayed, you would think I’d be used to it. I won’t apologize for what I did to you. It’s far too late for that.”

  “Then why have you come?”

  Sheri moved to stand beside him, feeling foolish peeking out from behind his back.

  “To counteract the sexual compulsion, you opened a portion of your being not often accessible to me. I knew you would need the mortal’s help to vanquish the succubus, so I established a telepathic link, rather like the collar that connected you and Chaos. She can accompany you into the Dream Realm, and you are now able to materialize when you are with her.”

  “I’ve figured out this much already.”

  “Don’t be curt with me, boy, or I’ll sever the link right now.”

  “I apologize.” He sounded almost contrite.

  “It’s obvious you’ve developed feelings for each other, so I’m willing to allow the link to stay.”

  “For how long?” After a pause he added, “At what cost?”

  She huffed, raising her chin a notch. “The price has already been paid. Despite what I did to you, you saved the life of my son. If this will --”

  “You are Chaos’s mother?”

  Hera scowled. “Don’t sound so surprised. If your husband cheated on you every time you turned around, you’d be tempted to return the favor. I just didn’t realize Hades was so fertile. Can we discuss the link now? I have a rather full agenda today.”

  “Pardon me.” Sheri inclined her head. “Please continue.”

  Hera turned back to Ryder, dismissing Sheri with a look. “What you haven’t realized about the link is that you can transfer energy. You can keep this mortal alive
for as long as you want her.”

  That made Sheri sound like a sex toy, but she chose not to object. Hera was obviously anxious to have the conversation finished.

  “Morpheus wants you to report to his hall once the mortal has gone off to work. He is willing to compromise on a schedule that will allow you to spend your leisure hours in this realm. Do you have any questions?”

  “I’m sure I’ll have many, but I need to discuss the situation with Sheri.”

  “The link can be severed at any time. She would go on with her mortal life, and you would return to the Dream Realm.”

  “I understand.”

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “I thought this would please you. I was ... attempting to make amends.”

  “I’m grateful for the opportunity. I appreciate your gift, but I’m not the only one affected by your actions.”

  Hera’s gaze moved over Sheri, then, without a word, she disappeared.

  “She’s more into entrances than exits?”

  Ryder placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Do you understand what she did, what all of this means?”

  “Hera is the reason we can hear each other’s thoughts. The link she created allows us access to each other, and it will allow you to keep me alive ... how did she put it? For as long as you want me.”

  “Tact has never been Hera’s strong suit.”

  Sheri smiled and wrapped her arms around his lean waist. “I won’t age as long as you feed me energy?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “And we can be together in the Dream Realm as well as here?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Then why aren’t you happy?”

  “I just have a hard time believing this came from Hera.”

  “You saved her son, so she gave me to you as a thank-you present.”

  He smiled. “Do you mind being a thank-you present?”

  “What do you think?” Raising her hands to his shoulders, she leaned in close. “I was ready to live the rest of my life with a dream lover. I like this arrangement just a little bit better.”

  She ended the conversation with a passionate kiss.

  Epilogue

  Velvety darkness embraced Dora Gunther. She blinked repeatedly, but the blackness remained. Drawing deep, calming breaths into her lungs, she refused to entertain the panic ricocheting through her brain.

  Focus.

  Think.

  Remember.

  Where am I? What happened to me?

  A strand of hair tickled her face. She tried to brush it away. She couldn’t move! Struggling frantically against her bonds, she twisted and thrashed upon a flat, slightly giving surface. A bed? Where the hell was she? How had she gotten here?

  Her wrists and ankles were encircled by some sort of cuff. The restraints spread her limbs wide. This position had only one purpose. A scream lodged in her throat. Did she really want her captor to know she’d regained consciousness?

  A low, mournful creak cut through the darkness. Boots scraped against stone, and a man spoke a phrase she didn’t understand. Torches spontaneously flickered to life, illuminating the bedchamber. Red, gold, and black -- Dora had never seen anything like it.

  The man was huge, tall and heavily muscled. Long red-streaked black hair flowed to his broad shoulders. His back was to her as he crossed to the hearth.

  She was chained to a massive bed like a virgin sacrifice, naked and helpless, awaiting his pleasure. Fear shredded her composure. Bile rose into her throat. Her breasts heaved with every ragged breath. This couldn’t be real. She was hallucinating. This was some bizarre dream. A strangled sound escaped her, and the man turned around.

  Their gazes collided, and Dora screamed ...

  Cyndi Friberg

  Cyndi has been a member of Romance Writers of America since 1999 and also belongs to two local chapters of RWA. She is the winner of multiple national contests, including The Molly and The Merritt. In 2003, she was chosen as a finalist in the prestigious Golden Heart, as well as winning the Jasmine with Rebel Angels 1: Born of the Shadows. After dabbling in freelance journalism and songwriting, she returned to her true passion: paranormal romance. Visit Cyndi on the Web at www.cyndifriberg.com, or email her at cyndi@cyndifriberg.com.

  * * * * *

  Read on for a tantalizing glimpse of

  Angel is a Centerfold

  by Pearl Jones

  Available Now from Loose Id

  Angel is a Centerfold

  “I am neither slave nor lady, lord. But I am yours.” She took the hand he offered and drew it to her lips, kissing it as she had longed to do. Her teachers had told her she would one day yearn to perform the erotic arts, but none had explained how strong the need could be. Was this unique? Was it only him? The taste of him, salt and musk and with more than a hint of horse, made her head swim. She moaned.

  “Lady ...” He fell to his knees beside her. “Lady, I cannot ...”

  She spoke around his fingers. “I know your oath.” Still, there was chaste and chaste. More than her honor was at stake; she risked her life. Feeling his flesh yield as she bit lightly down, she counted the reward worth the cost. Her tongue circled the digit, pulling it deeper; she sucked her cheeks in.

  He groaned.

  Leaning back until her head touched the rug, she let his hand slip from her mouth, down her neck, over her breasts, her belly. He pulled away with a hiss, then let his hand fall. Just a touch, a brush over her hips, away again. She shivered at the light touch. “Again.”

  “I must not.” But even as he spoke, his hand was at her shoulder, tracing a path down her arm, reaching her hand to weave fingers together, matching until the fit was perfect.

  His skin was hot, as though he fevered for her. She felt his touch like a brand and leaned into it, hoping to be marked forever. His hand flexed, stretching her smaller one.

  Her turn to moan.

  He tried to pull away; she gripped him tightly, rolling up to face him again. Holding his gaze with her own, she raised their clasped hands to her breast. He shivered and shook, and his mouth fell open. She smiled, and would not let him look away.

  His hand loosened; this time, she let him go.

  It was tempting to look down, to see his huge hand splayed in a futile attempt to surround her, but she enjoyed the look in his eyes. So might a man look were he visited by a djinn, awe and fear and hope and longing all at once. His other hand came up to join the first; she could almost believe it independent of him by the surprise that widened his eyes. And then his hot, hard fingers found her nipples, eager and thrusting through her silks, and her eyes fluttered closed at the sensation.

  “Mother of God.”

  It might have been a prayer.

  His fingers stroked and tugged and twisted through the cloth, sending tiny strikes of lightning toward her core. It was wonderful, so much better than when she played with them on her own. But it would be better still with skin on skin.

  Deciding, she pulled free from his touch. His face fell on the instant, and he began to speak in some language she did not recognize. The tone was enough; he was apologizing. She leaned in long enough to plant a kiss on his quick-moving lips, then twisted and came to her feet.

  “You are greatly privileged,” she laughed, “for few infidels ever see a performance like this.” There was no music, but she needed none. She danced.

  He gaped as she moved, her body free and swaying and not completely concealed within lengths of shimmering cloth. And then the cloth came free somehow, pieces waving from her wrists, veiling his vision for a heartbeat and then falling away, leaving inches of spice-dark skin to gleam in the lantern light.

  One foot, bare but for painted symbols, touched his knee. He looked down, saw another piece of fabric drop down to curtain her maddered toes, rise, fall again. And then it was gone, and the foot was on his thigh, and the ankle, too, was bare, as was the calf.

  He gasped, and his hands came up.

  She stilled
him. “The dance is not yet done.” Another length of cloth fell away.

  When she was clad only in a few fringed bits, a single length around her breasts rising to circle her neck, and the last of her multitude of skirt-wraps, she ceased, falling gracefully to kneel again, inches away from him, hands palm-up on her knees. “Now,” she said.

  He did not move. Did not even blink. A pulse in his throat leapt and throbbed; she could see it. It seemed to beg for her touch, so she reached out to stroke it.

  He grabbed her wrist, hard enough to hurt. “No.” Too loud; he winced. “No.” Slowly, he reached for her other hand, pulling them toward himself until he could shift his grip, both small wrists trapped in one of his large hands, his sun-darkened skin still lighter than hers, and rough. Gently, firmly, he held her, and breathed.

  Spices and honey and oil and tea and the scent of her.

  He looked her up and down, every lithe inch she had exposed. Lantern-light flickered on gleaming skin. His gaze followed each dancing shadow, every bright flare.

  She shivered at the intensity of that gaze, as hot as his touch, and as welcome. His mouth was open again. Did his lips tingle, too?

  He held her wrists, but she was not immobile. She twisted in his grasp to bring her face to his, tilted up, and brushed a soft kiss over his mouth. He swore, and let her hands free, his hands reaching to tangle in her hair, holding her firm as he plunged his tongue between her open lips.

  There was none of the delicacy she had been taught, but far more pleasure, and the taste of him was hot and urgent and stronger than foreign ice wine. She twined her tongue with his, darted a teasing tip between his lower lip and teeth, sucked his lip into her mouth and bit down not quite gently. He learned quickly, copying what he enjoyed; she learned from that, and discovered likes she had not known she had.