The Ravager Chronicles: The Complete Series

by Sara Page

  “Feel,” Striker purrs. “What do you feel?”

  I feel…

  …nothing.

  There is nothing.

  I am nothing.

  Empty space.

  “Dammit, Ameia. Get back here.”

  I’m yanked back. I think I cry out but how do I do it? I have no voice.

  “I’m touching you. Do you feel me touching you?”

  Striker is real. I hear his voice. He exists. Logic tells me that if I can hear his voice then I must I have ears. As if just remembering them brings them back into existence I can feel them–two ears… nothing else but it’s a start.

  Where would Striker touch me?

  Something soft brushes against my thigh.

  I have thighs!

  “Yes, good girl. You have thighs. Lovely, succulent thighs. What am I doing to them?”

  You’re stroking them.

  “Yes, I’m stroking them. You’re so soft, so silky.”

  I feel something stroke up and up. His hands? His fingers? I’m not sure yet. All I know is that I have thighs. I am thighs. I spread my thighs for him, waiting, expecting.

  “Do you like this?”

  My thighs are squeezed, fingers digging into me.

  Yes.

  “Yes, what?”

  Yes, I like it.

  Up, up the stroking continues. Then something warm, something wet touches my inner thigh and my muscles jerk.

  I am more than thighs. I feel a center, and a faint throbbing.

  “What do you want, Ameia?”

  I squirm. I still can’t see but I can feel, as if from his touch alone I am solidifying. I was nothing, but his touch brings me to life.

  More.

  “More of what?” he asks, and it’s so bloody frustrating.

  More of what you were doing.

  “What was I doing?” he asks calmly, and I can no longer sense him touching me.

  He is lost to me. The warmth is gone and I am chilled.

  I feel a flare of anger because I know I should be able to easily answer him yet I can’t. There’s something there, some kind of block inside my consciousness stopping me. I know the answer, I do, I just can’t access the damn thing.

  “Do you need help, my princess?”

  Please.

  “What will you give me for my aid?”

  Anything.

  Striker chuckles. “Anything?”

  Yes, you are my everything.

  Silence.

  Stillness.

  Have I drifted away?

  It wouldn’t be the first time. Thanks to the two little miracles growing inside my belly I need an anchor–either Striker or Beast–with me at all times to catch me when I fall into the shadows.

  Striker growls, “The things you do to me.”

  I feel a hard yank, and then I’m slamming against something warm and solid.

  You are my everything, I repeat.

  Striker groans, and then I become aware of pressure. There’s a firm pressure pressing against my lips.

  I have lips.

  Striker is kissing me. I can taste him, he tastes like spice and honey.

  My lips tingle, I can control them. I can open them. Now I have a head, and hopefully a brain. I’m slanting my head as my tongue meets his tongue… dueling, tangling, kissing him back.

  Lately, it’s been harder and harder to play Striker’s games, to give him the resistance he craves. We’ve been on the Harpy’s Talon for two weeks now while we wait for the Harpy–the ship that will actually transport us to Blackspire–to arrive. And during these long days, the love I have for him inside me has been growing and growing.

  Expanding me.

  Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe it’s the babies. But Beast and Striker have both become my everything. I’ve given up my home for them. I’ve relinquished my title. I’ve walked away from the future that was so carefully prepared for me and I’ve accepted them both with every fiber of my being.

  And in return they have done nothing but love me and protect me.

  “I love you.”

  That’s my voice, those are my words breaking through oblivion.

  “I love you too, Ameia,” Striker growls, his lips pulling from my lips between each word as if he could kiss his love into me. “Fuck, how I love you.”

  Love. This love. I never thought, I never dreamed it would feel like this. Heck, I never dared to imagine I could love not one but two men, and especially at the same time. But I love them both, I do. And it’s a love that isn’t static, it has no limits. Even now, especially now, it evolves and it’s ever-changing.

  I’m changing. They’re changing me.

  Striker breaks the kiss, pulling away. I ache at the loss of him.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I can’t.

  I have thighs, a head, and lips, but I don’t have eyes yet.

  “You’re afraid.”

  No.

  “Yes,” he insists. “You’re afraid to see.”

  That’s silly.

  “What is that cliché? Seeing is believing… You don’t want to believe.”

  I bristle at that observation.

  I believe.

  “If you believed then you could see,” Striker says sharply. He’s losing patience with me. “Open your eyes, Ameia.”

  I can’t.

  There is only darkness. How can one see if there is no light?

  “Open your eyes, Ameia,” he demands more forcibly.

  I feel myself pulling away.

  “Are you running away from me?”

  Oh shit, I think I am.

  I’m drifting…

  …carried away.

  Something is pulling me.

  “You can’t get away from me,” Striker’s voice caresses my ear, husky and deep.

  I’m not trying to, honestly.

  “Good. You’re mine. Mine.”

  I reach out, searching for him…

  Striker, please pull me back.

  I’m spinning as I reach, frantically hoping my fingers will touch something.

  Anything.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I can’t.

  “I believe in you Ameia. You can.”

  Fuck, I can’t. I open my eyes and there’s only black. Black upon black. Maybe if I had glowing red eyes I could see.

  “You still don’t trust me.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue–and of course I have a tongue, I was just talking a moment ago–to deny the accusation but that would be a lie. Partly.

  It’s not that I don’t trust that I’ll be able to see if I actually try to see, it’s more that I really don’t want to see. I don’t. Some deeply ingrained instinct inside me fights it. Fights against peering into the darkness. It’s pure self-preservation.

  Because I know there are monsters are in the dark, and when I look at them they look back at me.

  Help me.

  Please.

  I can feel a great expanse yawning between us. He’s just letting me float away.

  “If you’d open your eyes you could walk back to me.”

  I can’t.

  If I had eyes I’d be crying.

  “Dammit, Ameia, you can. Trust me. Open your eyes and come to me.”

  If only it were that easy.

  I can’t.

  Striker growls.

  Don’t leave me. Don’t lose me.

  “I will never lose you,” he says vehemently. “I will always come for you. You cannot get away from me.”

  It’s so dark… I feel so lost…

  “I’m right here, Ameia. If only you would open your eyes.”

  I can’t. It might see me…

  “What might see you?”

  The dark.

  “The dark cannot see.”

  I want to believe him so I choose not to argue with him.

  Silence.

  Am I ceasing to exist?

  Do I only exist when I am with him? With Beast?

  W
ithout them am I nothing?

  “You are safe here with me.”

  His voice is jarring, shocking me back into awareness.

  Promise?

  “Have faith in me.”

  Where are you?

  “I am close. I am right beside you.”

  I feel hands grabbing me by the face. I tip my chin up eagerly, expecting a kiss. The hands squeeze, his fingers sinking into me.

  “See me.”

  Kiss me.

  His lips cover mine and I feel solid, alive. There is comfort in the simple reinforcement of my existence.

  I reach for him and this time my fingers connect. Smooth, warm skin. The skin vibrates as I stroke his chest. He’s purring for me, purring into my mouth as I push myself against him.

  Tingle by tingle, the pieces of me awaken as if they were only slumbering, awaiting my acknowledgement of them. Waiting for him to awaken me.

  “Ameia,” Striker growls as my teeth nip at his bottom lip. “Open your eyes and stop trying to distract me.”

  “I’m not trying to distract you. I need to explore you to find me.”

  My fingers stroke down, tracing all the grooves and ridges of his chest, then his stomach. As I reach his waist and follow the deep lines that point like a roadmap to his groin, he stiffens beneath me.

  My fingers pause and I ask, “Do you wish me to stop?”

  Striker huffs out a harsh breath. “If it aids you… you may continue to touch me.”

  I feel myself smiling and push my fingers down. My fingers brush against his velvety skin before dancing away. He’s stiff and ready for me.

  “You are too good to me,” I sigh appreciatively.

  “I am too easy on you,” Striker grumbles unhappily.

  I know he’s displeased with me. I want to give Striker what he wants. I want to be able to fall into the other side and protect myself and our babies. But it’s too much like losing unconsciousness to me. My brain refuses to acknowledge that I’m actually still awake, and no matter how much I want to master this, wanting just isn’t enough. If only I knew what more it would take…

  I wrap my fingers around his thickness and smirk. “You feel hard to me.”

  Striker sucks in a sharp breath and I stroke my hand slowly towards the crown of his shaft. “Can you see yet?”

  “Not yet,” I sigh and lean forward. “Maybe if I…”

  I let my voice trail off as I take him into my mouth. Striker curses and I feel him twitch in my hand.

  “You think sucking me off will make up for failing my lesson?” he asks.

  I answer by moaning and pushing forward, pressing my tongue firmly against him as I take him deeper into my throat.

  “Fucking hell,” Striker curses as my lips bump into my fingers. “Your eyes aren’t even open.”

  I lean back, wiggling my tongue as he slides out. Then I open my eyes. Pure, impenetrable darkness.

  “Can you see?”

  I shake my head and lick my lips, tasting him. “No, I can’t see a thing.”

  “Your way isn’t working,” he says harshly.

  I feel him grabbing at my fingers, prying them off of his throbbing cock.

  “I’ve only been at it for a moment, if you’d just be patient…”

  “No, you’ve had your turn. Now it’s mine.”

  I hold my breath in anticipation, clinging to his hand and wondering what he’s going to do to me.

  “Tell me everything you feel. Tell me everything I’m doing.”

  “Okay.”

  Long moments pass. I wait and wait. If I wasn’t still clinging to his hand, I’d fear I may have started to drift off again, and then quite suddenly I feel his hand upon me.

  “What am I doing, Ameia?” he asks, his voice thick and husky.

  I moan, arching my back. I feel his hand covering my right breast. His fingers squeeze, molding around me. “You’re groping me.”

  Striker chuckles and his hot breath puffs against my skin. “What am I groping?”

  “My breast,” I sigh, and feel myself relaxing beneath his kneading hand.

  Then something hot and wet covers my other breast.

  “Oh!”

  I reach down and my fingers touch the top of his head. My nails scrape against his scalp and then I grab at his short hair, holding on to him. I feel a pull as he sucks my nipple into his mouth, and my back arches.

  “You’re sucking on me.”

  His teeth scrape at me and I clarify, “You’re sucking on my breast.”

  He murmurs, sounding pleased, and continues to suckle on me hungrily while his other hand works me, kneading me. Soon, my fingers are tugging and yanking at his hair in the same rhythm. I feel myself rocking my hips as each pull, each tug on my hardened nipple shoots jolts of electrical sensation directly to my clit.

  “Striker, why are you doing this to me?” I groan as I feel a delicious ache growing inside of my belly. He switches breasts. His hand slips to the wet left breast while his mouth covers and hungrily laps at the right. “How will this help me see?”

  Is this to help me, or is he simply taking advantage of my vulnerability?

  “Relax, Ameia,” he purrs, pausing just long enough to say, “Stop trying to think, and just focus on me.”

  I can’t do anything but focus on him. Focus on his mouth and his hands. Focus on how good it feels to be touched by him, how good it feels to be licked by him. He laps, nips, and squeezes me until my knees feel weak. Am I standing? I must be because it feels like my legs are buckling and Striker is the only thing keeping me upright.

  I feel his strong fingers wrapping around my hip and then his mouth begins to kiss a wet trail down my tummy. I suck in a harsh breath and hold it. My nipples ache, puckered and wet from the kisses. His hand gives my breast one last squeeze then it drifts down, brushing across my hip before reaching around to grab a handful of my ass.

  “What do you feel? Tell me.”

  “I feel you kissing me and grabbing me.”

  “What am I grabbing?” His hand roughly squeezes my cheek.

  “My ass.”

  “Do you feel anything else?”

  I hesitate, focusing on him. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I sigh, “No.”

  Striker laughs, his breath warm against my bellybutton.

  “Keep trying. Tell me when you do feel something.”

  His tongue suddenly dips into my bellybutton and I jerk back with a yelp. He chuckles, and that’s when I realize his other hand has disappeared from my hip. I reach out with my senses, searching for it. Eventually I realize that hand is lightly touching my knee, slowly sliding up to my thigh.

  “You moved your hand from my hip. You’re touching my leg now.”

  “Mmm, yes,” he murmurs and rubs his cheek against my tummy. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your legs?”

  “Everyday.”

  “Spread them for me.”

  I spread my feet. Well, at least I think that’s what I’m doing. “Like this?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he groans as his fingers glide up and his hand cups around my thigh. “Hold yourself just like that. And make sure your eyes are open.”

  I nod my head and feel myself tensing, wondering what he’s going to do to me. I know what I’d like for him to do to me. I’d like for him to bury his face between my legs and lick me until I scream, but I’m not sure we’re on the same page.

  “As soon as you see something, anything, inform me.”

  “Will do,” I sigh, ready for him to get on with it. I don’t even care anymore about seeing anything. As long as he’s holding me, I just want to feel him touching me and loving me. Everything else can wait.

  I concentrate hard, honing all of my senses on him and his movements.

  A puff of hot air hits my clit. Is he going to lick me? Oh stars, I hope he’s going to lick me. My entire body tenses in anticipation.

  The tip of his tongue drags against my clit.

  I cry
out and my hips jerk.

  He drags his tongue across me again but this time his tongue is vibrating. It’s like every nerve in my body lights up at once. Colors flash, but it’s so quick I’m not sure if it’s just my imagination.

  “Ameia,” Striker purrs, and laps at me. “Do you see anything yet?”

  “No,” I groan and shake my head. It’s taking every ounce of concentration I have just to keep my legs from giving out so I don’t fall on my ass. “Not yet.”

  Striker makes a growly sound and says harshly, “Focus on me.” Then he begins to attack my clit with his mouth while one of his thick fingers thrusts inside me.

  This time my entire world lights up in a white flash and I know it wasn’t my imagination.

  “I see something,” I gasp.

  “What do you see?”

  The white fades back to black. “It was just a flash…”

  Striker’s finger pumps deep inside me and his mouth attacks my clit with fierce determination.

  The world lights up again.

  “It’s white, I can see white,” I moan.

  “Keep focusing,” he encourages me as his tongue vibrates harder, and his fingers pump faster, deeper. “That’s it, Ameia.”

  Colors flash. My knees begin to buckle. His fingers dig into my hip, his strength the only thing keeping me from falling.

  It’s so warm, my blood boils and everything between my legs is throbbing with pressure.

  “See, Ameia,” Striker demands of me. “See me.”

  I look down, needing him, my eyes searching for him. I don’t want to do this in the darkness, alone. I need somebody with me.

  Just as the first quiver of my release spasms through my body, I catch a glimpse of red. Striker’s mouth and fingers withdraw from me, but before I even have the chance to cry out in protest, I’m suddenly filled with him. Striker thrusts himself hard and fast, impaling his cock deep inside my body.

  His eyes find my eyes as everything explodes into color. I clench around him and then feel him swelling, growing. My eyes close as my orgasm rolls through me, lost in the sensation. I ride out the waves until Striker rises above me and demands once more that I look at him.

  My eyes snap open and I see him. I see his red eyes searching my eyes and a slow smile curving its way along his lips.

  “There you are,” he says with such tenderness that I just have to lift up and kiss him.

  “What happened? Was that some kind of super magical orgasm or something?” I ask against his lips.

  He chuckles. “Something like that.”