by Sydney Croft
She’d started to stroke his shaft, but she froze as she waited for his response. She didn’t want to go back, but if he didn’t feel that keeping her was his choice, he’d forever have an excuse to be angry with her, to shut her out.
The tic of a muscle in his jaw revealed his frustration—with her or with himself, she didn’t know. What she did know was that she had better start acting desperate for sex, because something strange was going on with her body, and she didn’t want him thinking she didn’t need him anymore.
Slowly, she dragged her foot up his leg and hooked it around his thigh so she could pull herself closer, close enough that his erection slid against the seam of her sex. He hissed through clenched teeth, and then she had her answer, because suddenly, he was between her legs, his tongue fully engaged, his lips sucking on her clit, his fingers buried deep inside her.
She groaned, grasped his hair to hold him there because nothing had ever felt so good as Tommy when he was pleasuring her like this. The flat of his tongue stroked upward from her core, then hovered at the top of her cleft, where he pushed the tip into the little hood there. His breath was a hot wash, his fingers magic as three of them filled her.
“Incredible,” she whispered, and arched off the bed. He palmed her pelvis, eased her back down and into his mouth.
Ecstasy stole her breaths, her thoughts, her sense of decorum, because she was pumping her sex against his mouth, fucking his hand and tongue and screaming in release.
“Tom,” she gasped. “Come up here. Take me. Now.”
Taking an agonizing amount of time, he kissed her inner thigh and then slowly worked his way up. “Why?” he murmured against her navel. “Because you need me?”
“No. Because I want you.”
His head snapped up, and he fixed her with a hot, probing stare. For a moment, she thought she’d made a grave mistake. But then his mouth was on hers, his kiss urgent and demanding. His cock nudged the entrance to her sex, and she tilted her hips, took him inside where she needed him to be. Needed and wanted, and it didn’t matter that she was just a job to him. All that mattered was that she felt safe and, for the moment, cared for.
CHAPTER
Twenty
After three days of faking it, Kira knew her heat was over and wasn’t coming back.
Maybe the stress of what had taken place at the training facility had ended it early. Or maybe because a single man had serviced her for this long, her body no longer thirsted for something it got from the same male on a regular basis. Whatever it was, the end had become both a blessing and a curse.
Tom had brought her home until her heat ended, and then he planned to take her back to his agency, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey if he had to.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Tom didn’t want her; he’d made that perfectly clear. But she wasn’t ready to give him up.
Her needs had diminished, but her desire for him hadn’t. If anything, she wanted him even more, and if she had to fake three more weeks of fever in order to stay with him, she would. She craved not just sex, but his nonsexual touches, his embraces, his voice. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him.
Sometimes he didn’t mind, or at least he humored her convincingly enough when she snuggled next to him on the couch while he watched that obnoxious O’Reilly guy. Or when she wrapped herself around him while he washed dishes after she cooked vegan meals he actually ate—something that gave her hope for a relationship, since diet was a deal-breaker for her.
Other times, especially when she asked personal questions, he got grumpy, would pull away, withdraw to another room.
She wished he had a pet, because at least then when Tom went all moody-silent, she’d have someone to keep her company.
She also wished he’d open up more, maybe answer when she asked him about the nightmares that woke him up at night, or when she asked about the things in his house. Things like the set of oriental swords on his wall or the beautiful Egyptian tiled box on his dresser.
His collection of books had been a revelation; he hadn’t struck her as someone who liked Shakespeare. She’d expected an assortment of military titles, and though he owned enough of those, his Shakespearean literature took up the most prominent shelf spaces.
His house was huge, bigger than she’d have expected and very open. The number and size of windows had amazed her, given his aversion to exposure…until she figured out that the glass was not only tinted on the outside, but bulletproof. A wraparound deck circled the entire house, accessible from two of the four bedrooms, the living room and the dining room. His security system looked like something any museum would envy, and his arsenal of weapons she’d accidentally stumbled upon in the basement could have outfitted a small country.
She didn’t tell him she’d found the weapons. He was already on edge because she’d rearranged a lot of his furniture. The last straw had come when he found what she’d done to their bedroom. His roar of “Kiiiiiraaaaa” still rang in her ears. But geez, a bed should always sit at an angle that would allow the light of the moon to fall across the pillows. Besides, he refused to give up his side of the bed, and she needed to be close to the bathroom. As her body adjusted to the ended heat, she always experienced fluctuations in systemic function, and right now, she had to pee all the time.
Tom had flipped out about the bedroom, which meant that he got all surly and shut himself away in his den, but two hours later, when she interrupted whatever he was doing on the computer in order to have sex on his desk, he seemed over it.
In fact, he’d been relatively pleasant for an entire day since then. He’d even challenged her to a game of Risk last night, and though he handed her ass to her on a plate, he’d grudgingly admitted that her ruthlessness took him by surprise. He’d also said he admired that in a woman.
She was still beaming about that compliment.
“Why are you smiling?”
She looked up from where she sat on a blanket in his backyard, and smiled even bigger. “I’m just happy that you decided to join me.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice,” he muttered, as he sank down across from her. He bent one long, jeans-clad leg up and braced his forearm casually across his knee as he eyed the food she’d set out.
“Oh, stop your grousing. You needed this.”
“I needed a picnic?”
“Yes.” She handed him an avocado club sandwich with barbecued tempeh. Thankfully he’d taken her grocery and clothes shopping, because he’d had nothing but junk food in the house, and very little she could eat. “You said you never go to your company picnics, and everyone needs to picnic sometimes. Besides, it’s so beautiful out here.”
She inhaled a deep breath of country air, made sweet by the balsam and spruce trees that surrounded the house on three sides and created a cocoon of privacy. Well, privacy for Tom…anyone approaching from any angle would be spotted by the extensive camera system along the perimeter of his property. Only one corner at the rear of the house was exposed, his land butting up against a vast field full of horses with whom she’d already become acquainted.
“You should see it in the winter,” he said. “With snow covering everything, it looks like a painting. Something from a Dickens novel.”
“Christmas would be so magical.” She could picture it, a giant tree in his front window, deer in the yard…She wanted to be here for that. Wanted to make love under the Christmas tree, with only the lights and a fire to cut the darkness. For once, she wanted to wake up on Christmas morning with someone with whom she could share breakfast and open presents.
Eventually, she wanted to experience Christmas with Tom and their offspring.
For the first time, she allowed herself to think on the possibility. Before, with no hope of a mate to help her care for them during her heats, having children seemed like a pipe dream. But now…
“You’re doing it again.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Smiling.”
�
��Oh.” She poured a glass of sparkling cider for her, and a glass of wine for him. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re beautiful when you smile.” A touch of pink colored his cheeks, which looked good on him because he’d been so pale lately.
Avoiding her gaze, he took a bite of his sandwich. “Not bad,” he said, after he swallowed.
Thank God he’d liked—or pretended to like—much of what she’d prepared, because she’d been cooking like she was preparing for a winter hibernation. With no animals to care for, she’d been cleaning, cooking and baking—fruit cobblers, nut tarts, cookies. Poor Tom said he was going to gain a hundred pounds.
She doubted that. The man worked out for several hours each day, as evidenced by his ripped body, so iron hard, with layers of muscle on muscle and no hint of fat anywhere.
They finished their meal in comfortable silence, and when Tom was done, he stretched out on his back and tucked an arm behind his head. “Thank you,” he said. And then he cocked his head and watched her until she squirmed. “Something’s different about you.”
Oh, God. If he knew she’d been faking her heat…She broke out in a cold sweat. “What’s different?”
“I don’t know.” He reached out, trailed the back of his hand over her hip, her waist, her belly. “You seem softer.”
“Softer?” Pushing his hand away, she said, “You take that back, Tom Knight.”
Suddenly, she found herself on her back, pinned, and Tom was stroking her hair as he looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes that were bluer than the sky above. “Softer.”
“I’ll show you soft,” she growled, hooking her leg over his back like she did with her tigers, and flipped him so she straddled his hips and held him down with her palms on his shoulders.
“You’re good,” he murmured, circling her waist with his big hands. “But not good enough.”
Then she was stomach-down on the blanket, with Tom’s knee pressed gently into the small of her back. They’d mated less than two hours ago, and though she no longer needed him, she wanted him. This playful side took her by surprise, gave her warm fuzzies…and was a serious turn-on.
“Tommy? Please…you’re hurting me.”
Instantly, he lifted off her. “God, Kira, I’m sorry.”
She laughed and leaped to her feet. “Sucker.”
“You little—”
She didn’t hear the rest, because she was off and running. The grass felt good beneath her bare feet, and the wind in her face washed away all her problems. She heard him behind her, and she dodged right then left, the gazelle evading the cheetah. He missed her, cursed, and then suddenly she was rolling on the ground with him again.
“Took you long enough,” she panted when they came to a halt at the base of a gentle slope.
He frowned a little before settling fully between her legs. She yielded to him, welcomed his weight. “Yeah, but I have you now.”
His erection burned against her belly, and the intensity in his eyes lit her from the inside.
Images of the night she’d tried to run from him at the refuge flashed through her mind. She’d been scared, angry…and at the same time, horny as hell.
This was so similar, and yet so different. There was no fear, no anger. Just a warm sense of rightness and a whole lot of arousal.
“Make love to me,” she murmured, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders before she ran her hand down his back, feeling the raw power of the muscles rippling beneath her palm.
His body went taut. “It’s not time.”
“So?” She arched up, caught his hips between her thighs so the hard ridge of his erection rubbed her mound.
“Two hours.” With a long, luxurious sweep of his hand, he caressed her hip, her waist and rib cage, worked upward until he brushed the swell of her breast with his thumb. God, how this man affected her even when she was no longer in season. She loosened up, spread her legs wider to accommodate even more of him.
“Think how good it’ll be then,” he said. “After we’re that much more worked up.”
“I don’t want to wait.” She reached up, cupped his cheek. “You don’t either,” she whispered.
He hesitated, and then his mouth tightened into a grim slash. “No, dammit.” He pushed to his feet. “I agreed to keep you alive. I didn’t agree to fuck you at your whim.”
He stalked off, and she just sat there, smiling, because despite his harsh words, she knew the truth.
Tom didn’t refuse her because he didn’t want her. He refused her because he did want her—and having sex outside her rigid schedule might just force him to admit it.
GLANCING UP AT THE CLOCK, Kira realized that just over four hours had passed since Tom had thoroughly and luxuriously mated with her in the shower—the things that man could do with soap and a flexible showerhead—and he’d be expecting her to pounce any moment now. She padded through the hall toward the spare bedroom he’d turned into an exercise room, leaving a trail of clothing as she went.
By the time she reached the door, she was nude. Her stomach churned with guilt, but the pulse between her legs canceled out any regrets she might have over deceiving him. She might not be in heat anymore, but her body still grew hot and tingly when she thought about Tom.
The rhythmic sound of pumping weights made her pulse jump—the sight of Tom’s muscles bunching and flexing beneath glistening, tan skin would be a picture to commit to memory. Tense with anticipation and a strange nervousness now that her hormones were in control, she opened the door.
Oh, my. She knew he’d be a sight, but he was more than that. Lying on his back on a weight bench, wearing only shorts, he was a thing of beauty. Veins bulged on top of straining muscles as he lowered the weights to lock them in place, and his abs rippled as he sat up and watched her with hooded eyes.
He didn’t bother to ask if it was time; he simply stood and shed the shorts. Heart quivering with lust and anxiety, she let her gaze travel from his face to his chest, then lower, over his stomach, hips, to the erection that jutted magnificently from the thatch of tawny hair between his legs.
She ignited. Burned. Needed him like she needed to breathe, and as she moved toward him, she let all her instincts take over. Let them erase her trepidation, let them guide her in the taking of a mate so he’d know without a doubt that he was hers.
Every step stirred her passion higher as her thighs slid against each other and his gaze grew hotter. The pull she’d felt at the training facility, the one that had seemed to call to him, tightened, tugged like a direct line from her center to his.
Mine.
“Are you ready for me, Ender?”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by a spark of anger. “Tom.”
“They call you Ender at work.”
“You call me Tom.”
Happiness stirred her heart. She doubted he allowed many people to call him by his given name. She stopped so close she could feel his heat, but they didn’t touch.
“You aren’t in the mood to be ordered around, are you?”
He looked down at her, his eyes sparking with both fire and ice. “No.”
“Well, I’m in the mood to call the shots.”
“Then we have a problem.”
Another case of nerves unsettled her stomach, but she breathed deeply, remembering her goal. Her entire future rode on making him hers.
Planting her palms on his chest, she stroked upward and moved in so her breasts kissed his skin. The scent of his workout, salty, musky, rose to her nostrils, and she inhaled, let his wild, earthy smell invade her senses.
His cock skimmed her belly, and already liquid had formed at the tip, left a cool, prickling trail of wetness across her navel.
He had yet to touch her, engaged as they were in a battle of wills, so she dropped her hands to thread her fingers in his. He cocked an eyebrow, clearly unsure of her intentions.
Leaning back, she bent her knees and tugged him down to the floor. He sank easily to his knees, and when sh
e was on her back with him on all fours over her, she shimmied out from underneath him.
“Kira?”
“Shh.” She stood. Left him confused and on his hands and knees. When he would have pushed to his feet, she grasped his hair and stepped into him so his face met the aching apex between her legs. “You know what I want.”
Know me. Never forget.
A long heartbeat passed. The scent of his arousal drifted to her, but also the sharper, more acrid aroma of confusion. She doubted he was even aware of why he hesitated, but she knew. She was asking him to bond with her, to learn her scent, her flavor, her touch, so thoroughly that no other woman would ever suffice.
Fire burned in her lungs, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Please, Tom. Then he closed his mouth over her, and she threw back her head as the hot stab of his tongue penetrated her slit.
“Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh, Tommy, yes.”
“Open for me.” His voice was a rough, dominant growl and she wondered when she lost control of the situation, because she immediately spread her legs and drove her hand down, parting her swollen flesh for his invading tongue.
Her juices flowed, warm, thick, and he lapped at her like he couldn’t get enough. She spread herself wider with her fingers, grasped his hair with her other hand and arched into his mouth. Closer. She needed him closer.
Chills of pleasure raced across her skin as his tongue danced over her clit, licking, flicking, applying just enough pressure to keep her motionless, waiting for just the right touch. He knew her well enough by now to tease her to the edge and then pull back, prolonging her pleasure and at the same time infuriating her.
“Put it inside me.” She lifted her leg, braced her foot against the weight bench so she was wide open, exposed to him like never before.
His tongue swiped her valley once, twice, and then speared her deep. Tommy. Her knees went weak, and if not for the firm grasp on his head, she might have crumpled to the floor. He stroked her with his tongue, used it like he would his cock, pumping deep, and then swirling the tip around her sensitive entrance.
