by Sydney Croft
But the way he felt at the moment, with the anger bubbling to the surface, he didn’t think the alive thing was an option at all. “Come on out, Phoebe.” Melanie backed up, managed to get a few steps out of his reach before he was on her, slamming her against the wall. “Phoebe, you little bitch—I know you can hear me. Come on out and we’ll have some fun. Correction—I’ll have some fun ripping your fucking throat out.”
An image of Akbar flashed in his mind—he heard Akbar’s screams from that final day ringing in his ears as he cupped Melanie’s throat in his hand and squeezed. “Bring the bitch out. Because I can kill you both right now, but it won’t be nearly as satisfying.”
With that, the floor beneath them shook—and slammed him out of his tirade. He realized that he desperately needed to get himself back in control and wondered if it was too late this time.
But the earthquake his anger had created was only one of his problems. The other was the rock-hard erection and the feeling of uncontrollable arousal that passed over him and made everything hazy.
His hand had slipped from Melanie’s throat to her breast and she drew in a sharp gasp as through her shirt he worked a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
The fury and the arousal would combine to create a hell of a show, both outside and here … against the wall … on the table … on the floor …
Whether or not he’d allow himself to go there was suddenly, sickeningly, out of his control as the haze enveloped him in its grasp.
Hand still on the phone, Devlin O’Malley almost called Gabriel or Marlena. Normally, either one of them could bring him instant comfort with their mere presence.
This morning, nothing would help the feeling of impending doom spreading through his body.
Fire-and-ice woman is Alek’s daughter.
The words echoed in his head, a terrible cacophony, until his eyes watered and he was sure he’d throw up. Unable to sit still, he paced the office floor until he could control his breathing.
Stryker was still angry—wanted nothing more than to kill the woman he now held hostage. He’d delivered the news of who she was to Dev carefully, but his operative had no idea of the impact of the information.
Stryker would have no way of knowing that Melanie/Phoebe was also Dev’s sister, likely half sister.
He had a sibling. One who had murdered one of his agents. She’d probably murdered more—ACRO had an entire file of operatives who had been either killed at the hands of an unknown assailant or gone MIA and were presumed dead.
He sat down heavily in his chair and stared out the window into the gray dawn.
Very few things threw him these days. The death of Oz, his former lover, best friend, and ACRO agent, had done so, but with Gabriel’s help, he’d slowly come out of mourning. And he’d spent the last year meticulously planning Itor’s demise and falling in love all over again.
Things had been good. The best they had been for him since taking over ACRO after the deaths of his parents ten years earlier. He’d spent those years besting Itor Corp more often than not, as well as helping the U.S. government nail terrorists who threatened the country. Although the government officially denied ACRO’s existence, something Dev insisted on, they would pass on information to ACRO when they suspected that a member of the military or another organization had special or rare powers. It was a win-win all around, and Dev’s time at ACRO’s wheel had gone well.
Until two years earlier, when Itor’s leader, Alek Kharkov, had used his genetic link to Dev in a way that had left ACRO vulnerable and had nearly broken Dev completely. Learning that Dev’s greatest enemy was a biological part of himself was the only thing that had put him back together. That, and the need to avenge not only the psychic violation that had taken place but the danger Dev had inadvertently put his own agents in.
He turned back to his desk now and, in a habitual move leftover from years of blindness, ran his fingers over the mission report Ryan Malmstrom had dropped off the night before. Ryan, who had been one of the very agents Dev had put at risk. The man had been deep undercover in Itor at the time, having infiltrated the organization after months of careful planning. Ryan’s cover had been blown, and he’d been tortured, his mind scrubbed, and it had been only by the grace of God that the agent had been returned to ACRO last year.
Ryan had forgiven him, but Devlin couldn’t forgive himself. He’d promised his operative that he would take Itor to the ground or die trying.
This year, things had begun to fall into place. Thanks to Ryan’s infiltration, they’d gotten some important inside information that included a possible highly dangerous weapon.
And now … now they had Alek’s daughter.
Alek had killed Dev’s birth mother—Dev had learned that only a few years earlier. His parents had never let on that he wasn’t their biological son, that they’d rescued him from Itor’s evil leader when he was a mere newborn.
Dev wondered if Melanie/Phoebe’s mother had suffered the same fate.
He could trust Stryker not to kill her, no matter the man’s personal grudge. He needed to spend the day planning how best to use the information Stryker had given him about Australia, as well as figuring out how his half sister could aid with the takedown of Itor.
Devlin had no qualms about murdering his biological father. He just had to decide if his sister would be part of the collateral damage.
Beneath Melanie’s feet, the floor vibrated, reminding her of the first time they’d met, when whatever power he possessed had ripped apart the jungle earth. She stiffened, her body rigid, her mind spinning. This man clearly hated her. Yet he wanted her. And she … Lord help her, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Her body was definitely reacting to his touch, and she was pretty sure her initial suspicion was correct, that it had been conditioned to like danger and roughness.
She was actually turned on.
God, what had Phoebe done with this body they shared?
She swallowed, her throat catching on a moan when Stryker’s thumb smoothed over the sensitive underside of her breast. “Look,” she rasped, “do you want to kill me, or fuck me?”
“Both. Neither. I don’t know.” His voice was impatient, guttural. “Where’s Phoebe?”
“The earthquake … it scared her. She retreated.”
Stryker bared his teeth and leaned in, even as his hand slipped beneath her shirt. “Get her.”
“I can’t. She’s too deep. Why do you want her anyway? Why did you change your mind? First you want the drug to keep her suppressed and now you want her out. Which is it, because I’m about to get whiplash.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. Finally, he cursed and stepped back. “Forget it.”
“No.” It was a stupid move, but she inched closer to him. “You said this isn’t personal, but that’s bullshit. You want to kill her, you want to take revenge, but you need to keep me alive to use against Itor. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know anything.”
She snorted. “I know the idea of ending me makes you hard. Is that how you do all your killing? Maybe strangle your victims while you’re screwing them?”
His entire body jerked, the stark horror in his eyes actually making her take a step back. “What? I’ve never … Jesus!” He shoved both hands through his hair and kept them there for a second, as though he was trying to hold his head on. “Okay, yeah, the fantasies I have of putting Phoebe in the ground are pretty damned exciting, but not sexually.”
“Then why …?” She glanced pointedly at the enormous erection behind the fly of his pants.
“Side effect,” he snapped. “Side effect of using my power. Or of anyone using a nature-based special ability.”
Realization dawned, and suddenly things made sense. “That was why, in my apartment—”
“Yeah. You’d used your power, and I felt it.”
Well, it was a relief to know that he wasn’t some sort of sicko who got a sexual thrill from causing pain and death,
but the fact was, he still wanted to kill Phoebe, which meant Mel would die too. Right now, he seemed to be walking a thin line between duty and revenge, and the best way to keep him on the side of duty would be to keep Phoebe as far from him as possible.
“We have to leave. We need to go to my apartment and get the drug—”
“We can’t.” He lifted the curtain with one finger and peeked outside. “Not until help comes to neutralize the guys who are after Phoebe.”
“I can fight. I’m not useless.”
“Right now you are.”
His words struck at the heart of her, echoing those of her father and sister. You’re useless. Pathetic. No good to anyone.
Resolve put steel in her spine, and she stripped out of her shirt and jeans, leaving her in only her underwear and a bra. She just wished her hands weren’t shaking. “That can be fixed.”
Stryker spun around, his eyes going wide. “Hell, no.”
You’re useless. Pathetic. “You afraid I’m going to hurt you once I get my powers back?” She stalked toward him, and though he stood his ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t be. I need your help. You’re my one shot at getting out of this hellish life.”
The building shook again, just a tremor, and he groaned. “Put. On. Your. Clothes.”
The command in his voice made her want to jump to obey. But the very obvious erection behind his fly told her she had a shot at this, maybe her only one, and she wasn’t going to blow it.
“No. This is our best chance of getting to my place alive, and you know it.” It occurred to her that he might be worried about unprotected sex, and she felt her face heat, which was weird, given that she was practically naked and propositioning him, but the thought of discussing protection made her uncomfortable. “I … ah … Phoebe, we take a shot to prevent pregnancy and disease—”
“Do you really think it matters?”
She blinked, and then what he’d said sunk in. Anger bubbled to the surface, obliterating any remaining nervousness. “Right. Who cares if you get me pregnant, since I’ll be dead soon anyway. So let’s get on with it.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, but other than that, he gave no reaction at all.
“Fine.” He came at her, backing her against the wall. “You want it? We’ll play.” He ripped open his pants, and she nearly salivated at the sight of his cock as it sprang free, a thick, dusky column of hard flesh. Next, he tore her underwear and drove his fingers between her legs.
His handling was rough, but it wasn’t painful, though she knew he could make it so if he wanted. The fact that he didn’t, that he was actually taking the time to touch her, to concentrate the motion of his fingers right over her clit, told her he cared about her pleasure. Which was good, since Phoebe had said that the recharge had something to do with the chemical reaction that occurred when both she and her male partner climaxed.
Her hands were idle, she realized, and she reached for him, but he suddenly spun her around so her face was against the wall. He tugged her hips out, kicked her feet apart, and in one hard, powerful thrust, he entered her.
“Sorry,” he said against her ear, “but I can’t look into the face of the woman who killed my friend when I come.”
For some reason, that stung. She got it, but she was so tired of being seen as Phoebe, and as long as Stryker saw only Phoebe when he looked at her, Mel would be in danger.
He pulled back and pushed inside again, and if she had ever thought she’d hate this, she’d been so wrong. Didn’t matter that it was all so angry, as impersonal as if they were both masturbating. She had initiated it. She had gotten Stryker hard.
The rush of power brought with it a rush of wetness between her legs, and she moaned. The sound seemed to trigger something in Stryker, and he increased the tempo of his thrusts, began to pound into her with raw, brutal force. The erotic sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out with pleasure.
“How’s this?” he gritted into her ear. “You like it rough? I hope so, because I can’t give you anything else.”
“I … no, this is … fine.” More than fine. Sensation streamed through like lit gasoline in her veins. But still, she was plastered against a cold, hard wall, and though this wasn’t an act of love, she felt a basic need for some kind of … what? Comfort? Connection? Wrenching her arm around behind her, she palmed his flank, loved the bunching muscles under her hand as he pumped his hips. “The bed … maybe we can move to the bed?”
“The bed is for women I like.” He snagged her wrist and pinned it above her head against the wall so she couldn’t touch him as he hammered into her. She cried out in a combination of pleasure and loss of control, but he must have taken the sound as pain, because his grip loosened, and the wild pounding of his cock inside her slowed. “Fuck.”
The normally harsh word was soft, full of what she could have sworn was regret, and she was even more sure of it when he braced his forehead on the back of her head and let out a long, shuddering breath that whispered over her neck. Her skin prickled, and against her will she arched, taking him even deeper.
His thrusts gentled, and amazingly, the slower slide of his shaft over her sensitive tissues became even more intense. In no time, she was on the edge of detonation, her body quivering, her core clenching him greedily.
Mel didn’t have a lot of—heck, she didn’t have any—experience with this, but her body did, and it registered the sensation of skin on skin, as well as the rasp of Stryker’s pants on her bare flesh. The combination of rough and smooth in addition to the slide of his hard shaft inside her slick softness made for a perfect storm of pleasure, and she couldn’t contain the plea that escaped her.
“Please …”
“That,” he said, “is only the first of the begging I’ll get from you.”
Though he meant it in the not-so-fun way, it didn’t matter. The gruff, gravelly tone of his voice, the way his fingers dug into her hips, the slap of his balls against the fleshy lips of her sex … it set her off like nothing ever had.
Ecstasy shot through her core, spread to every nerve ending until even her skin popped with pleasure, and she let out a wail that was probably heard on the street below. The orgasm rippled, crested, and waned, and then, as Stryker barked out a pleasured sound of his own, his cock swelled, releasing a warm jet that triggered another intense climax.
Her pussy milked him, taking everything and squeezing until he began to jerk and grip her hips to still her as the sensations became too intense. Deep inside her, his cock twitched, and she shuddered, almost wishing he’d keep pumping … not because she wanted another orgasm, but because she didn’t want to lose this connection.
Silly? Yes. But she’d never experienced the melding of a man and a woman, and given the way her life had gone, she doubted she’d feel it again.
But only a dozen heartbeats went by before he withdrew, stepping back as though he couldn’t wait to not be touching her anymore. Weakly, she pushed away from the wall and turned around.
“Thanks,” she said, feeling stupid, because were you supposed to thank the man who gave you an orgasm? Even if it was the best one you’d ever had? “I, um, need to go to the bathroom.”
He said nothing, merely nodded and stalked to the window.
“Funny,” she sighed, as she gathered her clothes off the floor, “but I always thought my first time might be more … well, not hateful.”
Stryker’s entire body tensed as he swung back around to her. “Your first time?”
Suddenly feeling exposed, she brought her clothes up to cover her nakedness, as if the flimsy things were a shield. “Yeah, I was a virgin,” she said breezily, but when his expression only darkened more, she added, “I mean, I wasn’t technically a virgin, since Phoebe has used the hell out of this body, but I’ve never had sex. You know, for myself.” Phoebe had forced Mel out a few times while screwing, just to torture her, but she’d never initiated sex. How could she, when she didn
’t know anyone, and people she did know were Itor.
Something flashed in Stryker’s eyes, but he turned away from her too quickly to see what it was. Right. So she hadn’t expected roses and chocolate or anything, and sure, he only saw Phoebe when he looked at her, but he could at least try to act like she wasn’t something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
“Okay. I’m just going to get cleaned up now.” God, she was a babbling, nervous idiot. Did all women feel that way after their first sexual encounter? Phoebe had always played sex like a contact sport, using it as a tool to get what she wanted. Mel had never wanted any part of that, had hoped to someday find someone she could form an emotional attachment with. She’d dreamed about her first time … and this had been as far from it as she could imagine.
Oh, it had been good. Damned good. But it had also highlighted the fact that nothing for Mel would ever be normal. Even if Stryker’s people could somehow help her—assuming they didn’t kill her—normal was a pipe dream, and she might as well give up on it.
She cast Stryker one last glance before slipping into the bathroom. She really should thank him again, not for the orgasm, but for fucking her right into the real world. She’d never have a relationship or a family, she’d never get a degree or hold a job, and she’d never be free.
And now that Mel knew that, Phoebe was going to pay for what she’d done to her over the years. Whatever Stryker’s people needed to bring her—and Itor—down, she would do.
Somehow, Mel would make sure Stryker got his revenge, and if it meant that she died, so be it.
“Phoebe,” she whispered to herself in the mirror, “watch out, because you don’t scare me anymore. You’re the one who should be afraid.”
* * *
Stryker was surprised he remained standing in the wake of Mel’s innocent little announcement.
A virgin. A motherfucking virgin.
Maybe not in the technical sense—but in the sense it counted most.
