Maybe he’d get used to the field someday.
I would never know. I would be alone. Maybe if I hadn’t been so selfish, so pleased that a man had fallen out of the sky just for me—
“Mutt!” I cried behind my hands, tightening around my hurting heart. “I’m so sorry! I—aiiieee!”
I felt my balance wobble. My foot slipped on the parapet.
My arms flailed and caught in the billowing flannel of my nightgown.
I felt myself falling.
Before I had time to panic, something solid slammed into me and knocked the wind out of me. My head snapped backward. My left arm was crushed against my body, and when I grabbed in a panic, I found the edge of something hard and warm and leathery.
Mutt lay me down on my back on the thick plastic cushion of the chaise lounge.
I wheezed. I patted my chest, but it didn’t help. He leaned over me, looking worried, while I pounded feebly on his shoulder as if somehow this could pump air into my lungs.
Finally I lay back, exhausted but breathing again.
His little red horns glinted on his forehead in the landlord’s ornamental patio lantern-light. His great dark eyes were fixed on me.
“I only said your name twice,” I whispered.
“I was afraid to wait any longer,” he said. “What if you went splat first?”
His wings rose over him a little, as if a picture had come into his head of me going splat and he didn’t like it.
At least I’d only called twice. He didn’t have to stay with me. If I could avoid saying it a third time, I would know for sure that he wanted to be with me so far.
I touched his arm more delicately. “Don’t worry.” I smiled. “You saved me.”
“Why are you sorry, Mella?” he blurted. “As you were falling, you said my name. You said you were sorry.”
My smile faded. “I thought it was like the song. Mother Nature went to heaven and rearranged the sky…and sent me the perfect guy. But I can’t take that kind of advantage of you. It’s wrong.”
“I’m not perfect,” he said.
I touched his arm. “You’re pretty great.” His eyes lit up at that, and I felt better. “Tell me about this love spell that hit you.”
He sighed.
“It’s something the missing roommate, Archie, did. Baz never explained it all, but I guess Archie wanted to make someone fall in love, and she was somewhere out in the streets but he didn’t know where, and so he just shot this stuff off into the air. Baz thinks Archie didn’t even know we were up there, coming to get him.”
“So it was all a big mistake.”
Mutt nodded. “What’s unfair is that you got caught.”
I made a so what gesture. “You guys got it worse because you got dumped out of your jobs.”
Mutt shrugged those awesome maroon shoulders. His wings shrugged, too. “I’m not missing anything.”
My breath caught. I sat up.
He didn’t pull away from me.
I bit my lip. “Mutt, I’m trying to tell you I don’t want a slave. I don’t want to be your master. Mistress. Whatever. You deserve to make a free choice.”
He was standing over me, but now he got down on one knee. We were eye to eye now. His crazy shock of hair stood up against the stars, making him look a lot more primitive and dangerous than a desk clerk from hell.
He said, “This is how it works. We’re stuck in the box together. Maybe at first you’re the master and I’m the slave. But if we stay in the box—if nobody gets out of the box, or sends the other away and won’t call him back—” he made a blasé shrug, but his wings mantled “—or whatever. As long as we’re stuck with each other, it works out.”
He didn’t want me to send him away! “How do you figure?” I said breathlessly.
He looked down. “Well. They say this in the Regional Office. I don’t have personal experience.”
“Go on.” Great. A box made in hell.
“The slave gets to be the boss sometimes.”
A little ripple ran up my back. “Because?”
“Because the more the master tries to control the slave, the more controlled she is. Everything the slave does controls her. Because she has to keep watching him and—and punishing him and telling him what to do.”
I swallowed. “Mutt, I don’t want a slave! I do kind of like being in control.” I looked down. “It’s probably why I don’t have a boyfriend. Keek is always after me for being hypercritical.”
“And I was a horse’s ass the whole time I was at the Regional Office.” He took both my hands in his. “Mella, we’re talking about love. I don’t think the Regional Office really understands love.”
This was not my prickly, spooked, clueless demon. My heart beat faster. “Well, don’t look at me!” I said wildly. “I’ve never been in love before.”
He flung his head back, and he pressed my hands against his chest. His mouth stretched open toward the sky.
“Mutt, are you okay? Oh, shit, I said your name three times! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! Can I unsay it?”
“Four times,” he said to the sky. His chest heaved once, twice. My heart thundered along with his.
He looked back at me, and I saw he was grinning.
He said, “I don’t want to be free.” Then he made me cry. “I’m just hoping you don’t want to, either.”
“Why do you wear these shorts?” Jeff grumbled, trying to slide his hands under the waistband. We were leaning up against the edge of the big limestone pedestal in that little underground tomb.
The shorts were my tightest pair of Spanx—but also my shiniest. I’d noticed that Jeff liked shiny. “They’re for derby.”
“What is this derby?” He was still trying to work his fingers under the waistband. His forehead was sweaty, and his breath came short. My horny angel!
I laughed. “You’ll see. Start with my boots,” I suggested. “Derby’s a sport.”
He made an impatient noise, stooped, lifted me in his arms, and laid me on the slab. Then he went to work on my bootlaces. “A genetic sport?”
“A gender sport, more like. It’s women’s flat track roller derby. A demanding contact sport involving speed, skill, strength, and a—slow down, you’re getting those laces all knotted up!”
“Go on,” he panted. His fingers fumbled manically on my now knotted-up bootlaces. His breath was steaming up my knees.
“You’re not listening anyway.” I was barely listening to myself. I lay back and smiled at the ceiling, where his magical little ball of light glowed like a tiny, happy sun. I felt his warmth all up and down my legs.
He prompted, “Speed, strength—”
“Or, if your attention span isn’t up to that, think of it as hot chicks on skates, knocking each other down.”
That made him gasp. “Do they hurt you?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes. I hurt ’em back.”
He laid his hands over my shins, where he’d been making a mess of my bootlaces. His hands were so hot, I felt them through the leather. “You must not get hurt.”
I propped myself on my elbows. “The world hurts, Jeff. ‘The field,’ you call it.”
“Is that why you—” His gaze roved over my face. “Why you hurt yourself?” With one finger he reached out and touched the ring in my lip.
My breath caught. I got a lot of flak for my piercings, and I had a lot of smart answers, but Jeff cared.
Or maybe I cared what he thought.
“It’s to show that the—the field can’t hurt me as much as I can hurt myself. Whatever life dishes out, I can take it. My derby name is Dum Dum Round.”
Jeff made a face. “That’s terrible. Why would they call you stupid and—and—”
“Fat?” I laughed. “I named myself. A dum dum round is a soft-nosed bullet. It’s a killer. I call myself that because I hit the pack like shrapnel and I blow a big hole on my way out.”
“You also meant to put yourself down, though, didn’t you?” he said softly.
I swallowed. “I’ve been called fat and stupid before. The name sort of fights back against the put-down.”
How did he do this? His childlike honesty cut right through to the truth.
“Mutt was right,” Jeff said, his voice deepening in awe. “You are a fighter. You have formidable armor.”
I half lay there, a short, round girl with low self-esteem and a hole in my heart, propped on my elbows on the cold limestone slab in an underground tomb in the middle of a giant city, looking at a man so beautiful that he was like a fox or a unicorn, too perfect to be real. He was blond and chiseled and his eyes were bluer than blue raspberry Slushee. The muscles on his upper body glistened with sweat, pale in the little tomb, and the black leather pants he still wore covered stuff that was, I knew, more perfect than any ordinary man’s. He was more than physically perfect. He was…pure. Dumber than snot about the real world, maybe, but so kind and clean and honest. What was I doing with someone this perfect?
To my horror, tears filled my eyes.
The admiration in his eyes changed to alarm. “Oh, no. I’ve hurt you! It’s true, Mutt was right.”
“What?” I choked. “What did that jerk say now?”
“I’ve damaged your armor. And now I’m hurting you,” he said with shame in his voice. “You should have had a warrior like yourself. Someone who understands your power.”
My head was shaking no, but I felt sliced open. “I have no power, Jeff.”
His eyes glowed. “You conquered me with one look.”
Mella wiped her tears away. When she smiled at me, I saw both shyness and mischief in her eyes. “Um, can I confess something and you won’t get screaming mad at me?”
“I’ll never be screaming mad at you,” I said.
“You’ve known me two days. Give me time,” she said.
“Tell me.”
“It’s just this,” she said in a small voice. “When you were banging me into the wall at the cemetery?”
I flushed. “What?”
“I…I kind of liked it.”
The surge of power I felt as she spoke was indescribable. I felt huge. I felt like a hunter again. Every sense came sharply into focus, and I focused on her: her dilating eyes, her flushed face, her fluttering pulse, her pounding heart, and her scent, like the smell of wild honey poured over a roasting haunch of venison.
But how could I be the boss and not screw up again?
Go slow. Ask her what she wants, Baz had said.
“You’re sure?” I said.
“Well, not the part where my back kept banging into this bolt or something on the wall behind me. That hurt.”
Remembering the last time I’d smelled that smell, I reached out and closed my hand over her wrist. Slowly I squeezed her wrist, not to hurt her but to reassure her. I have you now.
She sighed. Her eyes rolled up, and she lay back on the plastic porch chaise as if her bones had softened.
Keeping my grip firm on her wrist, I leaned forward, smelling her cloud of fluffy blond hair, putting my lips near her ear. “Was that why you said I sucked?” I whispered. “Because your back hurt where the bolt banged it?”
I heard her heartbeat kick up. Under my fingers, her pulse quickened. She nodded. “And you didn’t seem to know I was there, really. I mean, when a girl’s getting ravished, she likes to feel that you know she’s there.”
“Swoggled.” I felt a chuckle come up in my throat, thinking of Baz’s explanation of sex-demoning. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Help! Help! I’m being swoggled by a really skilled, determined, hunky guy, oh help!’”
A laugh bubbled out of her. She arched up toward me. “Help!” she whispered. Her eyes were still closed, but she smiled. “Help! I’m being swoggled by a really skilled, determined—what?”
“Hunky guy.” I lifted her with one arm and pulled her other arm behind her. “Oh help!”
Her head fell back and her eyes drifted open. She smiled again. “Swoggle me, hunky guy.”
I grasped both her wrists in one of my hands.
She squirmed delightfully. “Oh help!” she whispered.
With that I gathered her into my arms, opened my wings, and leaped into the night sky.
The cemetery was just across the street. I carried her over the railroad tracks and over the cemetery wall. Below us ran the asphalt road, gray in the night. I followed it until I found the enclosure where I had made a complete idiot of myself two days ago.
We descended in a quick swoop. It was easy to find the place where we’d stood before. The grass was trampled by the wall. I found the bolt sticking out, moved carefully two feet to the left, and pressed my beautiful Mella’s back to the wall.
My heart swelled with confidence. “Hold still,” I commanded. I leaned closer still and, opening my jaws wide, I grasped her throat with my teeth.
A shiver ran over her whole body. “Oh!” she cried. I felt the sound through my tongue on her throat.
With my free hand, I took hold of her gown and, in one movement, I tore it away.
Her body bucked, but I bit down slightly, feeling her throat move, feeling her breasts rise to meet my chest. She made a little moan in her throat.
I growled and gave her throat a shake, as if to warn her again, hold still.
I settled my body against hers, reveling in her smooth heat and the way she arched up against me. Slowly I loosened my jaw and let her head fall to the side. I began licking her throat slowly. Her breathing sped up. I pressed her against the wall a bit harder and let go of her wrists.
“Don’t move your hands,” I snarled.
She gave a three-part gasp, as if she couldn’t get all the air in at once.
My hands slid over her arms, and I let my talons slip out just an inch or so and tickled her naked sides with them.
She gasped. That smell intensified.
I laughed against her skin. That made her giggle.
I’d made Mella giggle! I felt a hundred feet tall.
My cock was certainly proud. As I licked her throat, my hips also moved, grinding my aching cock against her.
“Am I hurting you?” I said, pressing her breasts with my hands. Surely my cock was bruising her.
She shook her head.
I listened hard for her heartbeat.
Then I gave her a bump with my hips.
Her pulse shot up.
I bumped harder. Her hips slammed back against the wall. That smell was making me crazy. I knew what I wanted now, but I had to be careful, so careful.
Grabbing her bottom with my hands, I lifted her a few inches and then, carefully, because my aim was probably lousy, I slid my cock up between her legs.
I slid home into a hot, slippery, intensely fragrant woman.
She clenched around me and cried out.
“Does that hurt?” I grunted.
“Bang me, Mutt,” she gasped.
So I did.
I nearly shattered when I saw her long, wide, creamy body spread out before me. I seized her breasts, pressing, massaging, rubbing deeply into the flesh of her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, her breasts, down to her thighs and up her belly to her breasts again. Mella’s breasts were big and soft, yet somehow strong. I felt I could use all my muscle with her and she would meet me, strength for strength.
She moaned and squirmed.
“What?” I blurted. “Am I hurting you?”
Her lips parted. “Bang,” she whispered. “Harder.”
I slammed into her harder. Surely it was too much? I saw her head snap back, and I put an arm behind her head, cradling it from impact against the wall. I braced my other hand on her shoulder, arched my back, and banged up into her.
Then suddenly she was banging back. Rhythmic cries came out of her. Her skin heated. In fact, it seemed the muscles under her skin moved and heated and fought back against mine—no, they fought with mine, as if we were sparring partners, no, dancing. I’d never danced before. The music of her heartbeat rang along with the music of mine,
louder and louder, until we slowed, slammed, squeezed one another, cried out together, and then every muscle went slack. I felt myself sinking to my knees in the tall grass with her still hooked over my cock.
Her arms came up and draped around my neck. She moaned, “Oh. My. God, Mutt.”
“That had to be wrong,” I said. “It felt too good.”
She curled upward. “Mutt, it’s okay.” Her arms still dangled over the back of my neck.
“It’s not. I want to do something with you, not to you.”
Her head came back so I could see her gasp. Her mouth opened. Tears gleamed in her eyes.
Shit, I’ve done it again.
Before I could apologize, she pulled herself up into my lap.
She looked wildly into my eyes. “That’s the nicest,” she began, and broke off on a sob. “That’s the nicest thing any guy has ever said to me.”
She threw her arms around me and wept on my shoulder.
Relief filled me.
We clung to each other. I felt my cock softening, relaxing.
More than that, some hard place inside me began to dissolve. Was it my armor? I’d torn down her defenses. Now mine were washing away.
It was terrifying. At the same time, I felt I almost floated, though she hung solid in my arms. I was safe. I was naked. She’d got inside me.
I wouldn’t have to fight her, or hide myself from her, or pretend with her.
She was on my side.
I’d never even known I had a side. It was always just me, struggling to be part of a world that didn’t care if I existed.
I realized I’d been hanging onto that stupid desk, with the dirty rings from my cat’s pee mug all over it and the cracked computer monitor and the mountain of paperwork in our paperless ha-ha hell and guys not even making eye contact if we met at the vending machine because I was a horse’s ass. I’d hung onto that in my heart because I was so damned scared that she wouldn’t want me, I wanted somewhere to fall back on.
All that was gone. I knew that now. I had nowhere else to go.
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