Fifth Grave Past the Light: Number 5 in series (Charley Davidson)

by Darynda Jones

  He bent his head, losing the game in the process, and whispered in my ear. “You got it.”

  His arms were free at once and around me. He moved in a different time, a different reality. I wasn’t prepared. One second we were standing in the middle of his living room; the next I was against a wall, his body hard against mine, unforgiving. But if he meant to bring me agony, the only kind he brought was the anguish of longing for more. His mouth trailed hot kisses down my neck. His knee pushed my legs apart. His hand twisted into my hair while the other ripped my blouse and sought the weight of Danger and Will.

  Then my pants were down and his blistering touch pushed inside me.

  I gasped and took hold of his wrist as that familiar spark ignited in the core of my viscera. As molten lava spread through me, burning me from the inside out, I guided his fingers deeper and heard a growl a microsecond before I found myself on the ground. This was not the sensual being I had come to know. This was not an act of love but of punishment. Yet all he managed to do was drive me closer to the brink of ecstasy. It was as though he wanted to hurt me, to force me into not caring, not sympathizing, but that simply wouldn’t happen. I felt his desire mount as quickly as mine. As much as anger led him, so did his raw sexual appetite, and in that area we were a perfect match.

  He lay on top of me with a hand around my throat to hold me beneath him as he unfastened his pants. I plunged both my hands in his hair, twisted my fingers in a firm grip, then pulled his mouth down to mine the moment he entered me. And a jolt of pleasure bucked inside me with his entrance. I breathed in the air he breathed out. I tasted him on my tongue. I sank my fingernails into his back when he pushed too hard too fast. But he didn’t stop. This wasn’t about pleasure. This was about reprisal. Revenge. His mouth tasted of wine and fire and his kiss grew just as hard as his fucking had become. A piercing arousal rippled through me as his thrust went deeper. He had clamped me to him so he could punish me, and yet even with all his anger and all his indignation, he did not hurt me. Just the opposite. Stinging tendrils of ecstasy spread throughout my body, hot and hungry and carnivorous.

  But was he solely punishing me or was he enjoying the act as well? I wrapped my arms around his head as he thrust into me, his breathing labored, his body molding into a marble-like hardness, and I did the unthinkable. I whispered into his ear the last thing he would ever want to hear. But I had to know where he was at.

  “Is this what he did to you?”

  He hesitated. Faltered. And my body cried out. It wanted that peak it sought. That prize at the top. But my heart wanted Reyes. With me. Not fighting me. Not punishing me. But riding this incredible wave together.

  There was a wall above my head and he braced a hand against it, our bodies still entwined and locked together. His mouth sought my ear. “You would still feel pity for me?” He nipped at my earlobe. The small amount of pain caused a sharp spike of arousal. “I am a monster, Dutch. A demon. Unworthy of you.”

  I still had my arms wrapped around his head. “I don’t pity you, my beautiful man.” His hold tightened. “I have sympathy for what you’ve been through. And you are not a monster. If you want to punish me for the feelings I have – ” I put one hand on a steely buttock and led him deeper. He hissed in a breath. Pressed harder. “— then I accept.”

  My body won. The heat swirling and bubbling inside me needed release, somewhere to go, and Reyes was just the one to set it free.

  His mouth sought mine, the contact rough, raw, and he drank me in as though my kiss were the only thing keeping him alive. An exquisite pressure trembled throughout me as he buried himself over and over, urging me closer to the edge with each thrust, with each powerful stroke. The air disappeared from the room as his erection milked the tide swelling inside me, summoned the wave of lava, drew it closer and closer until it burst through and crashed against my bones, surging like a boiling sea throughout me.

  He groaned in agony as he met his own climax with a shiver of ecstasy; then he lay on top of me, breathless and spent. When he went to push off me, I wrapped every available limb I had around him and kept him locked to me. He relaxed at last and I felt everything negative, every doubt, every grain of insecurity, every fragment of anxiety drain out of him. I kissed his brow and ran my fingertips over his back and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was happy. A ray of hope broke through. Maybe, just maybe, the lion could be tamed. Then again, did I want to tame such a wildly passionate beast? Such a stunningly feral being? I’d have to think on that one.

  We eventually found a bed with a mattress that felt like clouds. I lay there curled in Reyes’s arms. His warmth and steady breathing lulled me into a state of utter relaxation, but I couldn’t quite sleep. Not because I wasn’t at peace. Just the opposite. I’d never felt so at peace. So at ease. So at home. His presence was like a salve that soothed my frenzied thoughts, that calmed the roiling seas within me, and I didn’t want to miss that feeling for a second, so I lay there and drank it in.

  His room didn’t have much yet. It didn’t even have a clock, but it did have a bed, a couple of nightstands with lamps, a chest of drawers, and a chair in one corner with a copy of a Jack Williamson novel in it. Scattered on the floor was everything from George R. R. Martin and Tolkien to Ursula Le Guin and Asimov. He was a reader. And he liked fantasy and science fiction. It was like he was created for me and me alone. His taste, his temperament, his utter perfection. Admittedly lots of other women liked those things as well, but I chose to believe he really was created just for me. The only thing missing from his collection was Sweet Savage Love. I’d have to lend him a copy.

  On the other side of his bedroom was mine. Our headboards butted against the same wall. Or they would butt against the same wall if I had a headboard. The one that came with my bed had an unfortunate incident one night when I’d mixed tequila and champagne with a rock band from Minnesota. In all honesty, I don’t think I was even in the room when my headboard bit the dirt. Possibly not even in the apartment. I woke up in the stairwell with a new Blue Öyster Cult T-shirt and a slight case of internal bleeding. But I recovered quickly after crawling back to my apartment and kicking out the wayward souls who’d taken over my digs, including a guinea pig and an iguana named Sam.

  Honestly, who brings an iguana to a party?

  I lay there a long while, basking in the warmth of my man before easing out from under his arm and searching out a bathroom. I was just going to pee, then run back for round two of snuggle-palooza. Then I saw his shower. And I knew the true meaning of happiness. Two minutes later, I was thoroughly enjoying a massage beneath a waterfall made of stone and marble. Jets of water pulsated over my skin and kneaded my muscles. I named this ingenious invention George and decided to leave my own shower, Hector, for him. Some loves were just meant to be.

  I turned to see Reyes standing at the shower entrance.

  “It looks good on you,” he said, his full mouth forming an appreciative grin. “The shower.” His arms were crossed, his gaze sultry, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. He stood in all his naked glory. Long limbs and sinuous muscle molded into absolute perfection. Like he’d been sculpted onto this plane then airbrushed, the artist clearly fond of fluid lines and deep shadows.

  “I thought it might be a bit much,” he continued, “but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “This?” I asked, astounded that he would question George’s worth. “This… this masterpiece?” I threw myself against his stone exterior. George’s. Not Reyes’s. “How could you ever doubt him?”

  “Him?”

  “George.”

  “His name is George?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I just named him.” I tried to snap my fingers, but they were wet so I came away with more of a squishy thud than a snap. I’d take it. “Keep up, mister, or before you know it, life will pass —” I squeaked when he stepped inside and drew me against his chest – the airbrushed one – then bent down
to nibble on my neck. An electric current shot down my spine before I came to my senses. “Hey, wait,” I said, pulling back, “you are the son of Satan. Maybe we need a safe word.”

  His grin morphed into something wickedly charming. “Okay, how about, ‘Oh, my god, it’s so big.’ ”

  Laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. Not that it wasn’t. “That would be a safe phrase, but okay.” I thought about it, then said, “How about ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ ”

  He nuzzled my neck again, causing a surge of pleasure to cascade over my skin. “That sounds more like a challenge.”

  “Good point. But it does get the adrenaline pumping.”

  He pushed between my legs. “Among other things.”

  An hour later, we were sprawled on a rug on his bathroom floor using towels as pillows. I lay staring at the ceiling, stewing in astonishment for several reasons. First, I had no idea a showerhead had so many creative uses. Second, Reyes’s stamina was a thing of beauty. Third, I was beginning to feel him on a deeper level. In the same way I could glean emotion off him, off anyone, I was beginning to feel all the little intricacies of his physical reaction to stimuli. The same pleasures that raced across his skin, that bucked inside him, that burst as he reached orgasm, rushed through me with a supernatural intensity. I had never experienced anything like it.

  “How are you?” he asked, regarding me from beneath an arm he’d thrown over his face.

  “Pretty good, actually.”

  He took my chin and pulled my gaze to his. “No, really, how are you?”

  “What do you mean?” I’d just been on a turbo-powered roller coaster ride and lived to tell the tale. How much peachier could a person be?

  “You came here tonight for a reason, and as much as I’d love to believe otherwise, it was not for this.” He glanced around, indicating our recent activities with a nod.

  And his seriousness surprised me. “I had a few questions. But I didn’t think you’d be into the touchy-feely stuff.”

  He ran a thumb over my bottom lip. “That depends entirely on who I’m touching and who I’m feeling.”

  “Oh, right. Well, I have to be honest, all of this was for nothing.” I also indicated our recent activities with a glance and a nod.

  “Really.”

  “Yeah, I got an email the other day. The ambassador to Nigeria said I inherited a million dollars from a Nigerian uncle. He’s holding it in escrow for me. All I have to do is send him a money order for twenty-five hundred, and that million is all mine.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I had no idea I even had an uncle in Nigeria. Looks like I don’t need your crappy million after all.”

  “The ambassador sounds like a really nice guy.”

  “Right? I’ll have to send him a cheese ball to show my gratitude.”

  “But I lost the bet,” he continued. “I owe you two now.”

  “That’s true. I almost forgot. Can I get that in small, nonsequential bills? I like to hit the strip clubs occasionally.”

  He grinned, but then grew serious again. “Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?”

  “Something’s bothering me? I had no idea.”

  “Your boyfriend.”

  I glanced toward his shower in surprise. “George? It’s just a fling, Reyes. Nothing will come of it.”

  “Your other boyfriend.”

  “You know about Dead Duff?” That was fast. We’d only just started seeing each other. And we’d kept it so secretive. Meeting in a smoky bar, in a dark hallway.

  “No, your other boyfriend.”

  I thought a moment. “Donovan, my biker dude?” I did miss him. Too bad so many of my boyfriends ended up in Mexico, running from the law. That could be a sign of something.

  “No, your other – Fuck, how many boyfriends do you have?”

  “Including Herman, the maintenance guy at the Jug-N-Chug who talks to celery?” If I didn’t know better, I could’ve sworn Reyes ground his teeth. I couldn’t blame him. I mean, who talks to celery in this day and age?

  “Yes, including Herman.”

  “Oh, okay, then.” I started naming all my menfolk under my breath and counting on my fingers. I knew he was talking about Garrett, but why give him the satisfaction? He was just so fun to rankle. After a minute, I ran out of fingers and had to raise my feet so I could use my toes as backup.

  Reyes growled and rolled on top of me before sinking his teeth into my neck.

  “Okay, I’m sorry!” I screamed, trying to talk past an inane attack of the giggles his nibbling caused. A combustible energy rushed over my skin when he removed his teeth and started suckling my neck instead. He curled me deeper into his arms. “Wait,” I said, suddenly breathless, “you’re not a vampire, are you? Living off my blood and compelling me to forget? I’ve seen the show.”

  After another growl, I laughed and tightened my hold, but my muscles protested. It surprised me. “I think I’m sore.”

  He stopped and raised his head. “You don’t know?”

  “No. I might be.” I raised a leg to test it. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Here, let me check.”

  He stood, pulling me with him, and threw me over a shoulder like I weighed nothing. Sadly, that just wasn’t the case. I squeaked out a protest that was more giggle than complaint. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to perform an exam.”

  “An exam?” I laughed as he carried me to a small area he’d set aside for a dining room table and laid me across it. A startled gasp escaped me when my back touched the cold wood. “Oh, my god,” I said with a shiver.

  “Stay here,” he said, all business. “I have this covered.”

  “This is freezing,” I cried, but he was gone.

  Then I heard him rummaging around in his kitchen. I covered Danger and Will in an attempt to preserve their dignity. Also, it seemed like the right thing to do.

  He walked out with a variety of sparkling new kitchen utensils. A whisk, a spoon, a spatula, and several other ominous-looking devices for which I had no name. He dumped them on the table beside me.

  “And just what are you planning to do with those?”

  “I’m going to give you an exam. Make sure everything is okay down there.”

  I kicked at him. “No, you aren’t.”

  When I tried to rise, he pushed me back down with a hand on my chest. “Trust me. I took a correspondence class.”

  “From prison?” I asked, shocked.

  “And I have a lot of experience in this area.”

  “You’ve been in lockdown for ten years. How much experience can you have?”

  When I kicked out again, he took my ankle and placed my foot back on the table as he sought out the perfect tool for whatever dark machinations he had in mind. He picked something up. It was silver and shiny and foreboding. “I’m going to have to plug this one in.”

  “No!” I said, suddenly laughing so hard, my stomach hurt.

  Holding my ankle with one hand, he tossed that appliance aside and picked up something else, keeping it low, hidden from my sight. Then he turned to me, growing even more serious. “You have to trust me.” He leaned closer, watched me from underneath his lashes. “No flinching,” he said, a soft warning reverberating in his tone. “This is a flinchless game of concentration and control.”

  “Reyes, you are not —!” I gasped aloud as something smooth and cool settled between my legs. I anchored a foot against his shoulder as insurance against whatever he was planning.

  He nudged the utensil just inside, causing a sharp current to spike within me, then he knelt and feathered his tongue across the sensitive folds at my apex. A delicious warmth stirred with each touch, with every nudge, pooling deep in my abdomen, building and pulsating immediately.

  He hadn’t been lying. He clearly had experience. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, when to go deeper, how long to stay there. I writhed under his expert touch, grabbed h
andfuls of hair, begged for release. He spread my legs farther apart with his shoulders, sucked softly as I became engulfed in liquid fire. I expected him to enter me, to take over, to pleasure himself as well, but he didn’t. He lured me closer to the edge. Red hot embers spread through me once more, searing my flesh from the inside out. And then the tendrils that wound through me exited my body and entered his. I felt it the minute his pleasure met mine. I heard a soft gasp. Felt a cool rush of air as he breathed in.

  He removed his toy and replaced it with his fingers. Just as I could feel his reactions, he could feel mine. He was riding the same wave I was. Absorbing the same blistering heat, the same energy. The contact of our essences caused a friction, a biting arousal as he churned and whipped me into a frenzy until the sweet sting of orgasm rocketed through me. I welded my teeth together, braced myself as the rush crashed against me and drowned every cell in my body in warm honey.

  With a moan, Reyes reached underneath to finish what our connection had started. I grabbed hold of his hair and brought his mouth to mine, and with a soft groan, he wrapped his free arm around me, locking me to him as he spilled his seed onto my stomach. He trembled with the force of his climax, his breathing labored, his muscles like marble until slowly he relaxed against me.

  “That was amazing,” I said at last.

  He nodded. “Told you. Correspondence course.”

  I laughed as he helped me off the table and led me to the bathroom. We visited George, chatted about everyday things like wine, cars, and the horrid taste of shampoo when I accidently swallowed some; then we found his bed again and I lay with him until he fell asleep.

  He was simply stunning. His lashes fanned across his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, his breathing deep and even. He looked like a little boy. Content and serene.

  With a deep regret, I wiggled out from under him despite his sleepy protests and grabbed articles of clothing as I tiptoed to his door. What amazing willpower I had. What fantastic self-control. I’d come over for one reason, and everything but that reason seemed to be resolved. When I reached the door, I saw what looked like another note. But this was his door, not mine. I peeled it off, then angled it until I could read it by the light of the fire.