WastelandRogue

by Brenda Williamson

  “You’re not going anywhere, yet,” he informed her.

  Rattled by his words, she struggled to get free. “Put me down,” she demanded.

  His hold tightened. “Just relax.”

  He carried her toward a darker area of the cavern. Ropes hanging over a beam reminded her of her recent imprisonment by Hamner.

  “Let go of me.” She swung her arm to hit him.

  “Rye.” Sevrin dropped her legs so she stood. “What’s wrong?”

  His tight hug kept her arms bound to her sides. She started to struggle but stopped when his hold loosened.

  “Just take it easy. I was just taking you back here to lie down and rest.” He motioned to a low ledge with some sort of bedding on it.

  She looked at him again. Fighting off the paranoia that he wanted to make her a prisoner, she nodded in agreement. He slowly lifted her again.

  By fate’s design, she fit in Sevrin’s embrace. As if a force beyond her reason guided her, she resigned herself to his commands and slid one arm around to his back and the other around his neck. She liked his take-charge attitude and the way he made her feel protected. The safe ambiance of the low-lit mineshaft helped as well. She relaxed against him.

  “What, no argument or fight?” His brow rose, as if astonished by her decision.

  “No,” she answered. “I’m not a fool. I can tell I need a little more time to recover.”

  Over the years, the negative intensity she existed on had dulled her senses and diluted her emotions. Not knowing Shay’s fate left her empty. Sevrin’s seemingly compassionate nature touched the tender frailties of her spirit. Reassured by his seemingly good character, she deemed it safe to relax. Later, she’d address his motives.

  Letting her guard down, Rye tried to enjoy the attention. Sevrin smelled good, a clean scent mixed with a hint of smoke. Instinctively, she nestled her face in the warm recess under his angular jaw. The bristles of his unshaven skin tickled her cheek. She listened to his steady breath and the rhythmic beat of his heart.

  “Here we go.” He placed her on the thick layer of bedding made up of rags on the outcropping of stone.

  She watched him sort out the mess, straightening the bundle formed into a pillow.

  “Scoot over.” He waved her back.

  She shifted on the ledge toward the wall as he indicated.

  “Lie down,” he instructed.

  She dropped back onto the headrest of bundled rags. When he hopped up and sat on the ledge in front of her, her pulse quickened. What were his plans? Was he ready to seek payment for helping her? Trepidation lingered in her thoughts.

  When he fluffed a thin ragged blanket into the air and spread it out over her, the simplicity of his actions gained more of her trust than her concern. As he pushed and tucked and smoothed the covering around her, his consistent care seemed endless.

  Then he stretched out on his back alongside her. He crossed his legs at the ankles, wiggled as if it were possible to make the padded rock any softer than a padded rock and seemed content to settle into a position to sleep.

  “Get some rest,” he said, clasping his hands together at his waist and shutting his eyes. “In the morning, I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

  His indifference to her presence immediately dissolved her paranoia. She had never met a human who didn’t show a lot of caution around her kind.

  She watched him effortlessly fall asleep.

  Fascinated by his peaceful expression, she studied him for a long time. Unlike the delicate lines of a lamian male’s face, his hewn features had bolder contours. She had an attraction to his square jaw, straight nose and full lips.

  Strangely, she suffered from pangs of disappointment because he hadn’t taken her into his arms and requested compensation for rescuing her. He interested her from the moment she looked into his eyes and saw compassion in his gaze. Consuming his blood had connected them. It drove her to want a stronger attachment—a union of their bodies.

  “Sevrin?” she whispered.

  He rolled to his side, facing her but not answering. With his arms folded together as if subconsciously staving off a chill, he reminded her that humans were naturally warmer blooded. They felt the cold more than lamians. Not wanting him to suffer discomfort because of her, she lifted the blanket and dragged half of it over him. She scooted closer, sharing what body heat she might offer.

  Safely settled against him, she took a relaxing breath. Her mind slowly turned over the details about the man who had tortured her—Hamner. He said there were scientists who paid for live lamians. What were the scientists doing to lamians? Experiments for sure, but to what purpose? Hamner had left her. Had she slipped into hibernation, giving him reason to think she was dead? Why else had he dumped her in that ditch?

  Her thoughts turned back to Sevrin Renault. She scrutinized the weathered creases at the outside corners of his eyes. How old was he? Sunlight aged skin. Maybe it also aged the body. It would explain why lamians lived longer. Her kind avoided the sun because dehydration slowed their ability to heal.

  Content that Sevrin wasn’t a threat, she closed her eyes. She thought for only a short while. When she opened them, she found herself nestled against the entire length of him. The tickle of his breath, the warmth of his limbs and the beat of his heart lured her desires to the surface.

  His mouth looked so tempting. Deliciously pouty lips appeared poised, ready for her. Never one to shy from what she wanted, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly. He made a small sound, pleasant, inviting. She pressed another, firmer kiss to his lovely mouth, eagerly seeking a favorable response.

  He heaved a breath that announced his excitement. His lashes fluttered open and he stared at her with his delicious brown eyes. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so brave. She feared seeing repulsion or hearing his rejection. Humans despised lamians for their superior healing powers.

  Sevrin’s blank expression didn’t convey anything. His actions up until then were her only indication of his thoughts about her. He had helped her—a lot. More than any man in her past had.

  After the silence went on far too long, she braved another attempt to attract him. She moved first to kiss him but he gripped her shoulder and pushed her away, not hard or forceful, nonetheless significantly firmly.

  “Because I’m lamian?” She verbalized what she believed to be his unspoken reason. It saddened her to think he was offended by the difference in their species.

  He smiled and rose a little, propping himself up on one arm. “Not because you’re lamian.” He touched her cheek and his stroke moved her hair back from her face to behind her ear. “You’re still recovering from what appeared to be a horrific ordeal.”

  Her insides flip-flopped and her chest burned from the swelling of strong emotions. His thoughtfulness should have made her happy. Instead, she felt overwhelmed by feelings of weakness. She didn’t understand him or his reasons for taking care of her. Worse, she didn’t understand what drew her to him. The gravitational pull he had on her felt much more than the effects from a little blood infusion.

  “I was just thanking you.” She scooted away, wanting to hide from her foolishness. “Don’t think for a moment it was an invite to do more.”

  “My mistake, then.” He repositioned from his side to his back and shut his eyes. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  Again with the polite selflessness. She hated it—she loved it. Her head said good, he had respect for her. On the other hand, her heart wanted him to argue and demand, take what most men would try to seize without a second thought.

  When it appeared he had gone back to sleep, she took offense. How dare he lay peacefully unaware of her aroused state? Did she work through it or challenge his indifference?

  Attracted beyond prudence, she shifted closer. She studied him. It was his blood. It had to be. Her senses alert and instinctive, she craved his blood. Not the flavor or the healing aspects but the connection—the bond it created between them. Was the inherent trait of her hal
f-lamian side to mate out of kilter? Humans were infertile. Sevrin was inexplicably unsuitable. Yet what else explained her rapacious lust for this man?

  Suddenly, Sevrin lifted his arm and slid it over her. She froze, holding her breath and not moving a single limb. Nervous, she waited. Was he awake? Had he subconsciously reacted to her closeness?

  She inhaled the scent of him, wishing it were possible to it commit to memory. Indescribably aroused, she set aside her dampened ego and whisper-kissed his bottom lip. They lived in an ugly world. Disasters, dangers and hardships plagued everyone. Her recent troubles had left her scarred with stress and a mental pain of inadequacy she needed gone. Immersing herself in a selfish moment wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  “Sevrin,” she murmured softly, kissing his chin, sliding her fingers across his cheek, over his ear into his hair.

  “Yeah?” he mumbled sleepily. Then he stiffened suddenly, more aware of her. His eyes opened. A short space separated their faces.

  Not ready for another rejection, she resisted diving in for a kiss.

  “Rye, you’re—” He rose.

  “I’m the best judge of my strength,” she interrupted.

  “But I—”

  Unwilling to accept no from him, she put her finger against his lips. How many excuses did he have? Too tired. Too dirty. Not interested. Other than slightly longer, much more pointed cuspids, she wasn’t so unlike a human female. Men of both races said she was beautiful. Did he not think so? Damn, she hated feeling insecure about something as insignificant as the extent of her attractiveness to him.

  Chapter Four

  Without further hesitation, Sevrin rolled to his back, pulling Rye onto him. He unleashed his conscience’s restraints and kissed her with all the pent-up frustration of a man needing release. Why think? Why be so damn accommodating and deprive himself of a beautiful willing female?

  Then he stopped. He held her face. In the darkness of his sleeping alcove, he stared at the shaded outlines of what he knew to be the bluest of blue eyes. “I didn’t bring you here to take advantage.”

  “And you’re not.” She brushed his cheek lightly with her fingertips. “This is just inevitable.”

  He lifted his head, meeting her luscious lips. They kissed, exploring each other with their tongues. He liked the little sounds Rye made, faint and abrupt, as if she were afraid to let him hear how excited she was or how she was enjoying herself too much.

  “If anything hurts, tell me,” he said, sliding his hands up and down her back, reassuring her that her needs came first.

  “Nothing’s going to hurt. I’m all healed.” She punctuated each word with a peck of her lips against his. “But thank you for caring.” She kept her hands against the sides of his head and sifted strands of his hair through her fingers.

  He continued caressing her silken skin, examining every curve. He’d been over those areas before, when he tried not to think about her firm round buttocks or the smooth planes of her back. Now he wanted to memorize each contour with the tips of his fingers.

  He lifted and turned, dragging her partly beneath him. “Sex is no fun if anyone is in pain,” he said, praying she hadn’t lied about her wellness.

  “I’m not in any pain.” She sounded sure.

  He drew back from kissing her jaw and looked into her eyes again, seeing them a little better in their new angle. “You’re not doing this to repay me or anything, are you?”

  “What if I am?” She smiled. “Are you so honorable that’d you’d stop me?”

  Was he? It didn’t take much thought to know he was. If he couldn’t be honest with himself, he’d be in trouble. He lived a solitary life. Conversations were within his head. Guilt would eat at him the same way maggots devoured the innards of lizards he discarded after skinning them. He’d not take advantage of anyone, ever. It wasn’t in his nature.

  “I don’t want you to do anything you’d regret,” he said, compromising with his conscience.

  “Do you really think I’d be offering myself up to you out of gratitude?” Her breathy whisper bathed his face.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll tell you something, Sevrin Renault. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. If it was just gratitude I wished to convey, I’d come up with something less personal.”

  “Like what?” He stroked his hand over her head, happy he’d washed her hair as thoroughly as he had. The soft abundance of it shimmered in the firelight.

  “Tend your fire, clean your living space, cook you something to eat.”

  “I like those ideas. Can I get them along with this?” He kissed her moving lips.

  “Let’s just work on this first.” She pressed her mouth solidly against his.

  Her tongue darted between his lips. The low purr of her enthusiasm stirred a bigger one in the pit of his stomach. He wanted her. When they were in the steam-trekker, he hadn’t thought he could go another moment without having her. His desperation to feel her clinging to him only faded after she had thrown him against the opposite side of the steam-trekker’s interior. Still, that yearning to connect physically with her hadn’t totally disappeared.

  “You’ve been alone far too long.” Rye speckled kisses over his face.

  “How do you know that?”

  “You’re hesitant and quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours that you’re not voicing? Are you questioning your actions, maybe debating your options? Or is it the fact I’m lamian?”

  She moved her hands to his shoulders and pushed him up. “I won’t bite, if that’s what you think. Even in the throes of rapture I can control myself.”

  “You talk too much.” He covered her mouth with his.

  She filled him with a soft hum of satisfaction and it melted his mind. Her soft wet tongue circled his. She nibbled his lips, tugging gently. Full of passion, she gave freely. She left nothing to the imagination, and he kissed her harder and longer, hungry for every ounce of her eager display.

  Then he slid his hand along the outside of her leg, pushing under the shirt. He followed the curve of her hip and grasped her ass, kneading the supple flesh. She drew her leg up as he rubbed down the backside of her thigh and up to her ass again.

  One of her hands wiggled between them, touching the front of his pants. He shifted to give her room to work open the laced flap and release his cock.

  He kissed under her jaw, groaning low when her cool fingers glided around his hard shaft.

  “You’re really ready, aren’t you?” she murmured.

  He shuddered from her tightening grasp. “For quite some time.”

  Metaphorically, he’d been ready for years to have someone like her, beautiful, seemingly intelligent and a bit sassy. More importantly, he felt he could trust her with his life. But he still questioned, why? What was it about Rye that made him feel secure enough to let down his guard?

  Rye ran her hand up and down his shaft. She used her other hand to work his pants off his hips. He helped without giving up his hold on her. Kicking the garment to the floor, he worked on removing her one piece of clothing. His old, worn-out shirt never looked so good as it did on her.

  He fought letting naked anxiousness push him to move too fast. “Are you all right?” he asked, running his hands over her, hoping not to find any wounds still not fully healed.

  “Mmm, more than all right.” She pulled his hand between her legs, just as she had when he had washed her. “I’m stronger than I look, remember?”

  He probed her smooth cunt and fingered lightly over her clit. Her moans deepened, her breathing escalated. He dipped his middle finger into her where spasms of the muscles clenched around his knuckle and released repeatedly.

  She pushed her hands up his arms, across the top of his shoulders and held his face. Heavy sounds of her agitation rushed into his mouth under her passionate kiss. Her body heaved forward as he added his forefinger and pumped both in and out of her wet cunt. Then she broke from their lip lock and threw her head back, letting out a hi
gh-pitched note of exhilaration. The sound faded along with her shudders.

  He pushed her arms up, guiding her to fold them together above her head. Submissive to his direction, she parted her legs as he repositioned between them. He lowered, teasing her hot cunt with the tip of his cock. She lifted her hips and he rose, preventing the connection, delaying the union.

  He lowered again, resting on his forearms and holding her arms curved and cushioned in her cloud of hair. Since drying, the sun-kissed golden locks had rippled into big waves. He fingered the soft textured curls. Amazed by their sheen, he brought one lock to stroke against his cheek. He leaned and kissed Rye’s jaw, noting the equally soft smoothness to her skin. Trailing kisses down her neck, he paused on the jugular pulse. He sucked on the rapidly beating spot, drawing the vein nearer the surface.

  A moan stuttered from her as he pressed his swollen cock head against the wet warm center of her cunt. Her prior orgasm had lubricated the passage, making it easy for him to push inside her.

  Involuntarily, he shuddered as the heat encircling his erection wafted through his pubic hair. It had been a long time since he had fucked something other than his own hand. Excited, he lifted his hips and retreated slightly and then he thrust deeper, grinding his groin to hers. Over and over, he rammed into the tight opening, slamming his cock as far into Rye’s core as possible. His motions stimulated responses from her, surrounding him with sounds of her pleasure.

  “Mmm, yes, oh yes,” she groaned, her body arching toward him as he plunged again.

  She folded her shapely long legs around him, digging her heels into his ass. He let her arms go to feel her hands glide over him. Across his shoulders, down his back, along his sides—everywhere her gentle touch landed sent thrills of a deepening desire through him. Even when she clawed and pressed her fingernails into his hips, the stings enthralled him.

  “Oh—ah—oh—oooh,” she groaned. “You feel so good.”

  She went on to say more, instructing, telling, demanding the way in which she wanted him to perform. Her commanding tone might have intimidated him if not for the explosive trails of white-hot lightning roiling through his groin. His entire focus fell on the sweet coo of her voice leading him to a rare gratification.