When I First Saw Red: Soldiers and Mercenaries Book 2

by Kasia Bacon

  Red allowed my ministrations. His chest heaved up and down as he trained his eyes—darkened and stormy—upon me. Otherwise, he didn’t execute a single move or utter a word, but even mute and seemingly pliant, he managed to radiate pure predatory demand. Despite his vulnerable position and state of undress, he didn’t present as prey, but as one in control—in full control—of me.

  Something about him summoned an image of quicksand in my mind—designed to lure an unsuspecting victim to its depths and lead them to their ineluctable doom. It seldom happened that I chose to forego my instincts. Things, however, had progressed past heeding the warning signs. While one voice in my head urged me to get the fuck out of there and not look back, another and way more exigent instinct bid me to put down roots in his bed and never let him go. At any rate, if the little fiend indeed schemed to bring about my ruination, not only didn’t I care at that point, but I wanted in on the journey.

  I shrugged out of my coat jacket, allowing the heavy garment to hit the floor behind me. Off went my boots and in double time, too. Banishing further reflection, I climbed on the mattress and crouched, trapping Red underneath me.

  A grunt of surprise escaped me when his hands dug into the meat of my shoulders and pulled me down to settle on top of him. At the last moment, I retained enough sense to support my weight on my elbows, mindful not to crush him.

  He must’ve leant forward to capture my lips. Or perhaps I’d lowered myself to claim his? Regardless of who’d initiated the move, we became lip-locked. Both as hard as flint, we strained and ground against each other like a pair of youths who’d absconded from the supervision of their chaperones. It was absurd and exhilarating. Shockingly sweet, too. And so arousing, I feared I might spill myself all over him simply from indulging in the taste of his mouth. Embarrassment aside, I had to confess that a big part of me championed the concept of marking him.

  The way Red tugged at my clothes—although pawed seemed a more precise phrase—jostled for my attention. When he murmured something urgent into my mouth, I grudgingly untangled my tongue from his and lifted my head to look at him. “What?” I gasped, ever the eloquent talker.

  “Lose your garb, sergeant,” Red instructed, short-winded. “Hurry. He needs to feel you.”

  At first, my hair stood on end.

  He. I knew who Red referred to. That darker presence inside him. That entity separate from him. That part of him I could never see or touch directly, which didn't make his existence any less real.

  But my disquietude didn’t persist. Quite the opposite. Euphoria flooded my veins like liquid fire. I didn’t consider myself an expert on Tii-Matâshi by any stretch of the imagination, but I’d always considered their dichotomous nature riveting, if a little spine-chilling. The fact that Red’s demon wanted me—with such insistence—cranked up my excitement.

  I lifted my upper body and peeled my shirt off over my back one-handed. Removing my stained and dampened trousers without getting off him required some nimbleness. But loath to put any distance between us, I—by some wonder—managed without causing either of us an injury.

  My head felt woolly, as if stuffed with sawdust. Red’s scent, rich in my nostrils, made me ache all over, driving my desperation. “What do you want? Tell me,” I croaked. “Anything to please you.”

  Where the hell did that come from?

  I did my best not to blink. Making a few dents in the headboard by banging my noggin against the wood seemed tempting all of a sudden. I risked a hesitant glance at his face.

  Red’s nostrils flared. A flash of emotion—too swift for me to discern—darkened his chestnut-coloured eyes. The next moment, he lowered his lashes and his full mouth curved in a lazy smirk. “I’m starting to think I should be paying you.”

  An immediate understanding formed between me and my cock: that heavy-hooded, sensual look suited him very well indeed. The only quality missing from his disposition, and one that I intended to introduce into the mix in no time at all, was thoroughly fucked. “Oh, don’t fear, little Elfling. You will.” My dark, confident drawl took me aback. “Not in coin, though. I’ll settle for lewd pleas, groans and,” I ran the pad of my thumb across his lips, “body fluids.”

  He heaved a laugh. Its mellow, throaty tone delighted me.

  “Well, then?” I cocked my eyebrow in challenge, waiting. “What is it going to be?”

  “Will you do as I say?”

  I gave a nod.

  “Fine. Don’t hold back then, sergeant. Put those fine muscles of yours to good use. I’m not made of glass.” He marched his fingers up my chest, digging his nails in. “Fight me. Push me down. Make it rough. Until I stop thinking. Until I scream. Or until you do.” His head tilted to one side as he reached to cup my chin, angling my face down. “You think you can manage that?”

  Sweet gods almighty. I fucking hope so.

  “Mm. That ain’t an offer I can refuse,” I murmured into his temple. “Besides, I’m really curious.” I devoted a few tongue flicks to tracing the outline of his pointy ear, suddenly gaining a brand new insight into the whole fetish thing I’d never comprehended up to then.

  “Curious as to what?” He shivered and arched underneath me, clearly not adverse to auricular stimulation.

  “Oh, nothing much. Just something I’ve been wondering this past week.” Unrushed, I moved on from his ear and continued kissing my way down the side of his neck. “How will your moans sound when I stretch you? How will you feel writhing under me? How tight will it be when I feed my cock into your arse? I might do it in one go, or choose to be maddeningly slow about it. How loud can you get when I fill you? And how long will you last once I start drilling into you?”

  The night was turning out to be marked with surprises. Ones I kept springing upon myself, no less. I’d never been much of a talker between the sheets. Engaging in such unnecessary frills only delayed the ultimate goal. I’d believed in getting the job done by focusing on the fucking. Get in, get out. Anything beyond that invited intimacy, and that seemed redundant, if not awkward.

  But seeing him responding to my words with glassy eyes, arching into me hard and ready, felt neither clumsy nor ridiculous. Let alone a waste of time.

  “You like muscles, Red?” I milked it, pressing my grin into the indentation above his clavicle right after giving it a nip.

  “Not usually.”

  The dry response didn’t quite correspond with the shallow, conspicuous sound of his breathing or the dedicated way he currently kneaded said muscles on my back, clinging to me for dear life.

  A pleasant tremble of satisfaction shot through me. Did it mean that he classed me as unusual? Because I could easily get behind the idea of him ranking me in such a category.

  I sought his lips again for a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss.

  He relaxed into me in an unshielded, wanton manner that sent vibrations right to my toes.

  I needed to act before my control went thin and while he least expected it. So I got down to business by flipping him onto his belly in two wrestling moves, pinning him underneath me.

  Good gods, if the few following hours didn’t spell taxing and laborious. Oh, he fought me all right, like he said he would. Gave as good as he got. Feisty, demanding, uninhibited. So shameless and explicit about what he wanted and how he wanted it, my face burnt more than a few times. Some things I’d only fantasised about before, having seen them in illustrated art books, others I’d never even contemplated or considered possible. Nonetheless, I did them all to him that night.

  By the time the dull thuds of the shutters being closed around the pleasure house announced the swift approach of dawn, I’d taken him three times and in three different ways. Not a spot remained on his tight, lithe body I hadn’t caressed, fingered, nuzzled, licked or nibbled.

  Three times, each more incredible and overwhelming than the last, dragging me further into the trap that was Red.

  The fancy bed linen underneath us had gone to rack and ruin.

  And so had
I.

  ŌKKANȎ

  The fire had long died and the candles had burnt out, leaving the interior of my suite cool and bathed in the half-light seeping in through gaps in the shutters. Thus, sunrise saw me laid out in a boneless heap, a combination of slackened limbs and empty mind, curled into the sergeant’s side.

  All strength had drained from me, consumed by the spine-snapping pleasure I had experienced at the hands—and other assorted body parts—of the damn soldier.

  Sweet gods. The way the man applied himself to every smallest task made his assiduous streak shine through. In that context, his penchant for military precision gave me no grounds for complaint. The very recollection had me trembling.

  Very little had gone as I’d expected from the moment he’d walked through my door the previous evening. But pondering the implications of the situation while enveloped by his solid warmth, the rhythm of his heartbeat sound and steady against me, proved beyond me. Right then, I had no energy nor wit left to start processing the night’s happenings.

  Instead, I took my cues from my demon, who’d revelled in the closeness of his mate, soaking him in. Blissed-out and quiet, for once. Not merely sated, but happy. The vast improvement it caused to my wellbeing staggered me. An invisible anvil I hadn’t realised I’d lugged around had been lifted off me. I dared not mar the rare moment of tranquillity by wasting time worrying. I merely savoured the feeling of inner peace.

  Another shiver rippled through me, this time from the cold. Every intense session I shared with a patron depleted my vitality, so afterwards I tended to succumb to chill more easily. And I’d be damned if I recalled ever suffering from a greater depletion than at that moment.

  Before I had a chance to grasp my current need fully, a heavy softness shrouded me. My eyes fluttered open at the comforting sensation.

  I observed the sergeant arranging the folds of my silk quilt around me. His brows scrunched in concentration, he smoothed out the creases of the fabric, exercising the same diligence with which he approached everything else, it seemed. His hands lingered over me, soothing and considerate. Lulling me to sleep.

  My breath caught. I wasn’t used to being touched with such care. Nor did I expect him to act with such perceptive courtesy towards me once we were done fucking.

  I knew he readied to leave, the final clasp pressed to my shoulder a clear parting token. Stealthy in his movements, he made to get off the bed.

  We both realised he had to go. The wise thing would be to pretend I’d fallen asleep and let him slip away.

  “Don’t go yet,” I blurted out groggily. “Rest awhile with me.”

  The words came across as pouty and coquettish, shocking me into a cringe. He must’ve indeed fucked my brains out if I thought it brilliant to spout such nonsense. I lived by few rules, but the principle of never letting my patrons linger in my bed after the deed I adhered to with no exceptions.

  The sergeant fixed me a look of askance, his eyebrows slanted upwards.

  For a second, I thought he’d refuse. I stiffened in discomfort, regretting speaking so out of turn.

  But his face relaxed into a broad smile that lit sparks in his dark eyes. Handsome to begin with, the sergeant had even more going for him with his hair mussed, flushed cheeks and parted lips, displaying the white of his teeth.

  Without bothering to climb under the covers, he positioned himself next to me, his head and shoulders seeking the support of the headboard. He hauled me—a quilt-wrapped bundle—onto him in one easy slide, so that I ended up half-splayed on top of him, my face plastered to his bare chest, just below his heart.

  I felt both amused and a little irritated at the ragdoll treatment. But I let him have his way, too content to protest. His large palm ghosted over my throat, and a new spike of arousal blossomed low in my belly.

  In search of distraction, I peered up at him. “What’s your given name, sergeant?” I asked, not quite sure why I wanted to know. Perhaps because calling him sergeant out loud and in my head all the time had grown tedious. Or maybe, because given how vulnerable and exposed he made me feel, I wanted him to volunteer something personal in exchange. It must always be tit-for-tat. That habit, instilled in me by my trade, ran too deep for me to go against.

  His jaw muscles flexed and tensed. “They say you should never reveal your given name to a Tii-Matâshi.”

  “Do they? Isn’t that delightful.” I guffawed. “And you believe them?” I paused, shooting him a sideways glance from beneath my lashes. “Are you scared I’ll gain possession of your soul and have you do my darkest bidding? A big soldier like you?” Denying myself an eyebrow wriggle proved too much of a challenge, so I went for it.

  He gave a slow head shake, observing me intently. “No. That’s not it.”

  “No? What is it, then?” I demanded, a sudden spike of temper hardening my voice. I had no explanation as to why I pressed for an answer or cared about his thoughts on the matter, whatever they were. “Trust me, dealing with two souls is a big enough headfuck to begin with. I hardly have an appetite for more.”

  Not put off by my attitude in the slightest, the sergeant volunteered in an even tone, “I’m scared I would want to do your bidding regardless.”

  Such a peculiar reply made me frown. What did he mean by it? Nothing, most likely. We were both tired at this point. I closed my mouth and decided to keep it shut, sinking down onto him again.

  Time passed.

  His hand ran soft circles over my lower back and hip. Even through the thick fabric, his touch radiated heat.

  Just lying there, nestled against him, felt odd but nice. Nurturing. My demon purred. I couldn’t say I completely disliked it myself.

  “Lázhien,” he whispered above me.

  “Huh?” I slurred, three heartbeats away from slipping into unconsciousness.

  “My name,” he nuzzled the top of my head, “is Lázhien.”

  “Huh,” I repeated, pressing a slow smile into his rib. “No wonder you want to keep it private.”

  His chest, currently serving as my pillow, resonated with the husky rumble of his chuckle. “Go to sleep, little fiend.”

  Lázhien. Lá-zhien. How lovely.

  Unable to fend off the weariness any longer, I quit struggling against it. Sure enough, under Lázhien’s tender petting, I drifted off.

  LÁZHIEN

  The night’s activities had left my body fatigued and sore in a manner not dissimilar to the aftermath of an intense sword work session. Otherwise, I remained alert and clear-headed.

  Unless ill or laid-up with injuries, I wouldn’t have been found lazing in bed during daylight. Had I been on duty that morning, I would’ve already been up for a good hour, going about my business in the garrison. I mused at how Red’s routine differed from my own. The same dawn that indicated the beginning of the working day for me, instead guided him to retire.

  Slow and regular, Red’s breathing sent subtle huffs of air across my chest. It started to tickle, but that didn’t persuade me to alter my position.

  Using my free hand, I pinched the bridge of my nose, applying firm pressure on it with my thumb and forefinger. What the fuck was I still doing there? How had I suddenly become a pathetic creep who watched strangers sleep?

  I’ll sneak out in a wee bit. When he’s fast asleep, so I don’t wake him.

  What a lot of bollocks. He’s dead to the world. Wouldn’t even care if I started practising jumping lunges and chanting cadences.

  Shit looked bad. I’d entered dangerous ground once I started deceiving myself just to prolong the moments with him in my arms. The truth? I didn’t want to leave and any excuse would do.

  Red promised nothing but trouble. At the mere notion of having to refuse him anything, my body started to sweat. He could get his way at the bat of an eyelash and he knew it. Was it his demon’s charm at play, or simply inherent to Red? Perhaps both? My brain fuzzed around him, while my other organs seemed determined to work themselves to exhaustion to compensate.

&nbs
p; When he’d demanded I lie with him, his luscious eyes had brimmed with such sincerity that it had pierced my heart. Little did he know he’d nailed my two weak spots like a good ’un: making me feel special and needed at the same time. Off I went, like a fly to honey, hardly able to think for all the ridiculous flutters rippling away in my stomach.

  Indeed, pathetic appeared to fit the theme of the day.

  How many others—men and women in this very bed—had deluded themselves into thinking they shared a connection with him? How many fools, enthralled by his beauty and brought to the brink by his craft, fantasised about keeping him for themselves?

  The earlier mixture of elation and fulfilment evaporated from me in a rush. Bile on my tongue, I sobered.

  Red was a whore. He sold an illusion, making all patrons feel special for an hour or two, depending on the amount of silver that changed hands. However compelling the appearances, the act remained a transaction. Resenting that, having knowingly purchased the performance, made no sense. Neither did blaming the artist for playing his role so well that he had me convinced it wasn’t make-believe for an instant.

  The fault lay with me alone.

  A single night and I knew I would hurt over him. A single night that proved I’d only known lust and pleasure before—not passion, true and overwhelming. I had to strangle the impulse to wrap him in my embrace tighter still, grab him and make a run for it. What would that achieve? I could never have him. Not in any way I’d call meaningful. And to think—I’d considered a thousand silvers a steep price. It looked like I’d be paying way more than that.

  Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

  Curled into a ball and buried under the covers, Red’s shape resembled a cinnamon roll. I couldn’t refuse myself a small smile.

  Well done. Good job pining for the person who will not—cannot—reciprocate your feelings in a thousand years. Who will replace you with another the very next night, quick as a snap of the fingers.