Cipher sa-4

by Moira Rogers

  “I have two hands, Kat,” he reminded her. “I can take care of things myself.”

  It was not remotely okay to pause and savor that image, but she couldn’t stop herself. Andrew, stretched out, his face slack with pleasure, the muscles in his arm flexing as he curled his fingers around

  -She slapped her hands over her face and actually whimpered. “That was mean.”

  “Was it?”

  Anything else she said would reveal her newly formed and overwhelming need to watch him and his two hands take care of things. So she leaned down and kissed him again.

  He held the back of her head and fit his mouth to hers, slow this time. Easy. A gentle kiss from a controlled man trying to make her feel safe, with no clue that his tender protectiveness turned her inside out.

  If her empathy had been at full power, she would have come when he stroked his hand from her hair to her collarbone, and then down to her breast. She moaned, imagining how much hotter his callused fingertips would be against her suddenly tight nipples.

  Not that the silly butterfly tank top offered much protection. Kat shuddered and tore her mouth free of his, then shoved at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. Sliding one leg over his body was reckless, and straddling his stomach was insane. “You’re too hot. My brain is going to overheat.”

  Muscle flexed under her as he shifted slightly and gripped her hips. “Isn’t that the point?”

  The fine hair on his arms tickled her palms as she touched him, sliding both hands up until they passed his shoulders and she was stretched over him, clutching the blankets on either side of his head. A position of power—if you were fool enough to think an alpha shapeshifter couldn’t dominate a lover from flat on his back.

  She might be on top, but the need pulsing through her answered to him. Her body answered to him, held captive by empathy and her growing suspicion that some of the arousal turning her inside-out was coming from him, in spite of her shields.

  He held her gaze and thrust up, and suspicions and shields were the last thing on her mind as the hard ridge of his erection rubbed against her. Instinct had her moving before she could stop, grinding down to chase the too-perfect pleasure that couldn’t possibly be twisting inside her already.

  But it was. Her elbows gave out, and she sprawled across his bare chest, open mouth pressed to his shoulder. Moaning, she clenched her eyes shut, afraid to move. “I can’t come before you’ve barely touched me.”

  He flipped her onto her back and stretched out over her, one knee between her legs. “You can come whenever you damn well please.”

  It was permission, though she doubted he realized how imminent it might be. She drove her fingers into his hair and dragged his mouth to hers, kissing him with open-mouthed desperation, as if she could drown her terrifying lack of control in physical sensation.

  Even as he kissed her in return, his knee pressed closer, rocking hard between her legs, and he murmured something into her mouth.

  She couldn’t understand. She didn’t care. Her mouth fell away from his as she arched her head back, digging it into the mattress. She was practically riding his damn thigh, and opening her eyes was the final mistake. Andrew stared down at her, intense and hungry, eyes heavy-lidded and face flooded with passion.

  For her. He wanted to see her pleasure. He wanted her to come.

  Critical mental processes shut down as she dug her heels into the bed and lifted her hips. She arched one last time and gasped when his muscular leg rubbed against her clitoris in the perfect, perfect rhythm, right in time with the blood pounding in her ears.

  Her empathy twisted sharply inside her, taking in his satisfaction in her responses and drowning her in it. She came with a scream, an honest-to-God cry that mixed surprise and pleasure, and she couldn’t find the wit to be embarrassed about it. Not when empathy had triggered a physical response so intense she wanted to scream again. All that was missing was touch, skin on skin, or— fuck, the actual act of fucking, him driving into her, taking her, claiming her.

  Andrew groaned and buried his face against her shoulder, his body shaking. “Fuck—God—” White-hot ecstasy slammed into her, surreal because no physical reaction accompanied it. His orgasm, a desperate, intense fulfillment that fed her empathy, and realizing that he’d come roused her body until she trembled on the knife’s edge. One strong thrust of his hips set her off again.

  She twisted. She writhed. She came hard, so damn hard her whole being shook with it, even as she ached, empty, craving him inside her to make this complete and beautiful and real.

  “Fuck! ” He rolled off her and hit the bed, still shuddering, one arm thrown across his eyes. Relief and loss tumbled end over end as Kat gasped in a helpless breath that made the stars in her peripheral vision dance.

  Slowly—too slowly—the chaos faded, leaving her limp and wrung out, sprawled across the bed fully clothed and more naked than she’d ever been in her life.

  Suddenly, Andrew shot upright, leaving her staring at his rigid back as he spoke. “You okay?”

  “I’m—” Humiliated. “I’m sor—” He cut her off. “Stop. You can’t apologize to me for this. It’s not right.”

  Kat covered her face with hands that trembled. Too much, too fast, and now she had to confront the reasons why such an insane feedback loop could have happened with her shields locked firmly in place.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Which part?” He laughed, a little desperately. “The empathy overload, or the part where I just came in my jeans?”

  “Both. More. It’s…” Her body hummed as she sat up, her hands falling to her lap. “We need to talk.

  About a lot of things. Things I should have told you before we—before this.”

  He shook his head and eased off the bed. “I’m going to change. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him, Kat rolled from the bed and fought to smooth her clothing back into place. Her loose braid was disheveled, half-undone from his fingers. Tiny tingles danced up her spine at the memory of callused fingertips sliding against her neck as he tilted her head back and kissed her-Pleasure stirred, sluggish but terrifying in its quiet insistence. Andrew called to her body. He’d flipped her on. Short-circuited the gate governing her libido. Every input came back TRUE, and he didn’t even have to be in the damn room.

  She couldn’t begin to fathom the reasons, but her terrified brain whispered one word, over and over in an endless loop. Imprinting. The only thing that made sense, and she didn’t know what was worse-imagining that it could be true, or having to tell Andrew.

  Her gaze fell to the rumpled bedspread. If she did have to tell him, she couldn’t do it here. So she gathered the shreds of her courage, dragged herself to the marginally more innocuous territory of the couch, and waited.

  He needed time more than anything else, so he jumped in the shower.

  A cold one, since his body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo about recovery time and how he shouldn’t have a throbbing erection right after an orgasm, even if he was relatively young and virile.

  That’s what you get for dry humping an empath, dumbass, he told himself viciously as he chattered under the frigid spray. A change of clothes and a cold shower. It sounded like the punch line to a bad joke, the kind that didn’t make anyone laugh.

  His arousal had subsided by the time he climbed out, toweled off and dressed in clean clothes, but he took a moment anyway, because what came next was more unappealing than leaving the bathroom to talk to Kat.

  He stared into the mirror and forced himself to go over the possibilities. She could tell him that it was a mistake, that a moment of horny weakness had made her stumble into his arms. Or— oh God—even worse, that it wasn’t right because she was still tangled up with Miguel Mendoza, though she’d talked like that shit was over.

  Do it or quit, but you gotta pick one. Alec’s words, echoing in his head. Sound advice, except that he was pretty sure Alec would kick
his ass for about a dozen different things he’d done in the last two days.

  “Fuck it,” he whispered, and shoved open the bathroom door.

  Kat was huddled on the couch in the other room, one leg tucked under her and the other foot bouncing nervously on the floor.

  Her gaze landed on him for a split second before skittering away. “There’s so much stuff, I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you know about the creepy dark side of the psychic community.”

  “What you’ve told me, or Derek.”

  “Derek doesn’t know much of it. He couldn’t, or he really would have locked me in a closet until I was twenty. Empaths…” She dragged in a deep breath and let it out in a shaky sigh. “Lots of psychics are in danger during their formative years. Lots of us have powers that people would love to exploit. But empaths who don’t have fully developed protections are…vulnerable.”

  It sounded like Ben’s warning. “Are you talking about the fact that there are people who would use them?”

  “I’m talking about how people use us. If you get ahold of a strong receptive empath when they’re young, or you can manage to break an adult, we’re trainable. A patient person can make us love anyone, or anything. And I don’t mean make us think we love it. It’s real.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Kat met his gaze. Held it. “They call it imprinting. Not like baby ducklings or anything, though. They’re not going for filial loyalty. Not usually. Because people are perverts and most empaths aren’t really useful as weapons. But if you strip an empath’s shields and flood them with pleasure, after enough time they’ll associate whatever the hell you’re doing to them with pleasure. Custom-built sex slaves.”

  Andrew dropped to a chair. “People don’t really do that shit, do they?” Even as he asked, he knew it was a stupid question. If there was a way to do what she described, of course people would exploit it.

  A weak smile curled her lips, and it looked forced. “Supernatural world kinda blows, doesn’t it? So much power, and people misuse it to find creative and more disgusting ways to get laid.”

  “Yeah.” And that didn’t explain why she was telling him any of it. “You’re not trying to say this has something to do with me, are you?”

  The smile faded. “That’s the scary, bad side of imprinting. The malicious side. But it can happen naturally too. We can grow around someone who’s important to us. Become what they need…and need what they want.”

  “Oh.” He leaned back instinctively. “You think that might happen with me.”

  Pain tightened her eyes, and she looked away. “No, I’ve got solid training now. Good shields.

  Someone would have to break me first. But I didn’t have those shields when I met you, and I was young.

  Infatuated. In love.”

  How could hearing that still hurt so much? He was so busy quelling that pain he almost missed the import of her words. “When you met me.”

  “I don’t usually have crazy porn-worthy orgasms from making out.” Her voice twisted, turned dry.

  Morbidly amused. “And trust me, it wasn’t because Miguel sucked in bed. But it didn’t matter how well he brought it, he was never…”

  You. Andrew rose and took a step back. “When? When did this happen?”

  Kat slashed a look at him, eyes narrowed and mouth tight. “I don’t know if it happened at all. There’s no test. It’s not a switch or a spell. We all change because of the people in our lives. I just…change on a more fundamental level.”

  “It’s got to be reversible.”

  “Yeah, maybe with a time machine,” she snapped.

  He’d hurt her feelings, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Don’t get snotty, Kat. I’m not worried about myself here. This isn’t fair to you.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest in a blatantly defensive gesture. “Yeah, I was scared before you started backing away like you’re afraid I’m about to rape you. How much scarier do you think this is for me when you act that disgusted?”

  The fear he’d been holding inside exploded in an unstoppable rush. “I’m not disgusted, I’m fucking freaked out. Can you give me a goddamn minute to process this?”

  Kat rose stiffly. “You had a right to know, so I told you. But I don’t know if that’s what this is, or if I’m bent in some other way. Maybe I have a kink for shapeshifters who blew me off.”

  She couldn’t have meant to marginalize what they’d shared, but he closed his eyes and turned away anyway. “Thanks a lot.”

  Her breath hissed out. “I’m sorry. My shields aren’t—I didn’t mean—” Moments passed in silence.

  Then, “Sometimes pride is all I have left.”

  “After what?” he asked. “Did I take that much from you? Did I hurt you that much?”

  “I loved you. I killed for you. And I was never what you needed.”

  It stopped him cold, and he turned to face her again. “If that’s what you think happened between us, then you don’t get it at all, Kat.”

  “Maybe not.” She looked tired. Older than her years, her blue eyes numb. “But you needed time. Space.

  Alec to help you adjust, and Derek to be your friend. Anna, even if it was only for a while. You never needed me. Not once.”

  He’d needed so many things from her, but one most of all—her safety. It had just turned out to be the one thing he couldn’t personally ensure, the one reason he’d had to push her away. “You’re so sure of that, and there’s nothing I can say, is there? Not a single damn thing.”

  “You don’t say you need someone. You just do, or you don’t.” She rubbed at her face and dropped back to the couch so fast the springs creaked. “We can drown in words, and it’s never going to help.

  We’re both wrong, and we’re both right. That’s life. A big fucking mess.”

  “You’re right about one thing.” The admission came grudgingly, but he forced it out. “Talking isn’t going to get us anywhere, not now. Not like this. So we may as well order room service and rest up for tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She looked down. Her fingers closed on the hem of her baby-blue tank top, folding and unfolding it over and over. “I should have told you before. I would have, if I’d thought it was a possibility. And it might not be it, but if it is…” She swallowed. Cleared her throat. “I’m not your responsibility.”

  He tried to stay silent, but it didn’t work. “Bullshit.”

  Kat didn’t look up. “I don’t want to be your responsibility.”

  It didn’t change the facts, not for either of them. “I get it.”

  “Do you?” Her hands stilled. “I don’t want to be your responsibility.”

  “Yeah.” He understood better than she knew. “You don’t want that to be why. I get it.”

  “Okay.” She rose without looking at him. “Would you order me a cheeseburger? I need to check my mail and see if Ben’s found anything else.”

  A big fucking mess. “Yeah, okay. Cheeseburger.”

  Her eyes met his for just a moment. There was longing there, and pain, a weary resignation he could almost feel as she turned toward the bedroom.

  Andrew snatched up the room-service menu and cursed viciously. A big fucking mess, just like she’d said, and nothing but time would help.

  If anything does.

  Chapter Six

  The safety deposit box looked mundane—until you touched it. It zinged with energy, and the lock refused to yield, even with the key.

  Andrew sighed. “If it weren’t practically vibrating with magic, I’d say maybe we had the wrong key.”

  Frustrated, Kat twisted the key again. “Do you think it’s a spell? A charm?”

  “It has to be. The question is, what’s the trigger?”

  Whatever it was, the knowledge had died with the woman who’d given them the key. “Words, maybe?

  Or…well, it couldn’t be anything I wouldn’t have access to, unless my mom expected me to find a spell caster.” Aba
ndoning the key, she ran her fingers along the metal edges of the box’s lid, tracing every irregularity until she found a small indentation.

  She tried to wedge one finger under the edge, but a quick tug proved that the metal was unyielding-and unforgiving. Pain zipped up her hand as her fingertip slipped over a sharp spot.

  Magic crackled through the small room and then vanished.

  The lock clicked, and Andrew reached over and lifted the lid. One edge bore coppery traces of her blood. “I guess that answers it. Are you okay?”

  Kat winced as she checked her hand. “Yeah. Just looks like the world’s ugliest paper cut.”

  He poked at the contents of the box—a lone manila envelope. “Want me to open it?”

  She almost said yes, but felt like a coward. “No, let me see.”

  He handed her the envelope. Kat opened the top and upended it, spilling out a black square of plastic.

  She stared at the blocky Iomega logo, confusion warring with abject disbelief. “A zip disk? Are you kidding me?”

  Andrew eyed it with raised eyebrows. “It has been in here a while.”

  Somewhere around a decade, which she supposed explained the outdated method of data storage.

  “Yeah, well, my netbook isn’t going to read this. And I doubt Staples is selling external zip drives these days.”

  “There’s always eBay, or maybe your friend Ben has one lying around.”

  “Maybe.” Kat tugged off the scarf Sera had knit for her and wrapped it around the disk for extra padding, then tucked it into her bag. “Figures none of this could be easy.”

  “Finding the place was pretty damn painless.” He cast his gaze around the tiny room, with its bare desk and one-way mirror. “Is that all that’s in there? Clean it out and let’s go.”

  The box looked empty, but Kat ran her fingers along the inside, as if she might find a hidden catch or secret compartment. Instead she felt the smooth metal of the box and not a damn thing else. “That’s it.”

  His hand grazed the back of her shoulder. “Then where to now?”

  Warmth followed the path of his touch, streaking through her to settle low in her belly. Kat closed her eyes and thought of ice, of the vast snowy expanses of Antarctica, Alaska, or—hell, a walk-in freezer.