by Lily Graison
He reached for her hand, placing it on his chest, a silent command to continue. Marcy ran the soap bar over his flesh, coating his arms and shoulders before laying it to those toned pecs, his nipples tightening when she touched them. God, if he wasn’t beautiful. She’d never seen another man so—manly. He was ripped and toned. Not an ounce of fat anywhere to be seen and the strength she knew he possessed was intoxicating.
His chest expanded more rapidly as his breathing increased and she worked her way lower, his stomach muscles twitching as she ran her fingers over them and her pulse began to race when she noticed he was no longer soft, that big cock of his now raising to point directly at her.
Marcy swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry throat and looked up at him, her hand inching further down, her fingertips brushing the coarse hair underneath his belly button before working their way further down. She was within inches of exploring the hardened length of him when he snatched her hand away, holding it up in the air.
They stood there staring at each other for long moments before he took a step closer. He placed her hand on his shoulder and reached for the bottom of the shirt she was wearing, dragging it up the length of her legs. The material slid over her hips, his fingers leaving a hot trail on her ribcage. His eyes were locked on hers as he pulled the shirt up, pausing just beneath her breasts. Was he trying to read her reaction?
Her pulse was beating a frantic dance underneath her skin, her breath caught in her throat as anticipation at what he was doing caused her stomach to clench. She licked her lips, his gaze drawn to them for a brief moment before locking eyes with her again. He must have seen whatever it was he’d been looking for because he raised the shirt higher, his knuckles rasping against her nipples. Tingles shot straight to her core, her womb clenching tight as she felt the head of his cock brush up against her inner thigh.
He pulled the shirt over her head in one quick motion and dropped it, the force of the waterfall pushing it under the water to lay at their feet. Her chest heaved as he stared down at her. She lowered her arm, all pretense of washing forgotten when he lifted his hands to cup both breasts, kneading them, his thumbs flicking over her nipples repeatedly until they ached, each small pinch he gave them sending sparks shooting straight to her core and by the time he dropped one hand, his fingers tickling a path down her stomach to dive into the curls between her legs, she was trembling.
Her eyes closed the moment he touched her, his fingers brushing against her clit while his other hand continued squeezing her breast, his thumb flicking back and forth over her nipple. “Open your eyes, e’mahn neok.”
Marcy dragged her eyelids up and swallowed, gulping in a breath as the hand between her leg delved deeper, one long finger sliding between her slick folds before he pushed it up inside her. She sucked in a harsh breath and reached out when her knees went weak, grabbing hold of his arms and moaned, her eyes closing again as he pulled his hand away and inserted two fingers inside of her.
The warlord let go of her breast to cup his hand on the side of her neck, raising her head so she’d look at him. The color of his eyes changed, the amber darkening to golden-brown as he lowered his head, clamping his mouth over her lips. Marcy’s surprised gasp was followed by a moan as his tongue slid into her mouth, his rough exploration causing those small tingles to burn like fire in seconds and she did the only thing she could. She kissed him back.
All the dirty thoughts she’d had about him were poured into that kiss—every pulsing throb she’d experienced when thinking of him and every long night spent wrapped in his arms hoping he do more than just lay there—shown in every swipe of her tongue. She wrapped her arm around his neck, their chests flush, and her heart felt ready to burst as his fingers continued to play between her legs, digging deeper as he pumped them in and out of her.
Marcy broke the kiss, gasping for air. Her arms were still locked around his neck, their breaths mingling. His eyes were locked on her own and a tiny hint of a smile tugged at his lips when his thumb pressed against her clit. She moaned and shifted her hips back and forth, riding his hand as the head of his cock pressed against her leg.
The intense look in his eyes as he stared down at her and the wicked things his fingers were doing made her light headed and it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for her womb to clench, her nipples aching as he hit a spot inside her that caused her to momentarily lose her mind and scream so loud, her shouts filled the cavern and bounced off the walls.
Her last boyfriend had tried endlessly to find her G-Spot but never did. The warlord had without much effort, and she jerked against his hand as he fucked her with those long golden fingers.
His hand on the side of her neck tightened as every muscle in her body clenched, a pinprick of intense sensation starting at the point his fingers were and expanding out in a rush of jolts zinging through her limbs. She dug her nails into his shoulder as she continued to come so violently, the entire world went silent for long moments. The warlord pulled his fingers from her, the hand on her neck lowering to wrap around her waist and he lifted her as if she was weightless, then drove his cock into her with one forceful push. He turned and walked through the waterfall. She blinked water from her eyes when her back hit something slick, cold, and solid. It was another boulder, hidden behind the waterfall. The warlord pressed his hips toward her, pressing her against the rock and she gasped, the length of him filling her so completely, she forgot to breathe.
The warlord lifted her slightly, then dropped her back down on his cock, jolts of pleasure shooting through ever nerve endings before he withdrew and plunged back in. He lowered his arms, hooking her legs over them and planted his palms flat on the rock. She was spread wide open, his hips fitting between her legs as if she had been made for him.
He fucked her like it was his job, hard forceful thrusts and she was panting long before her legs started to quiver, her eyes rolling back as she laid her head against the rock. The warlord lowered his head, his lips playing against the side of her neck before those sharp ass teeth of his once again pierced her skin. She climaxed immediately, the pain from the bite being chased away as he pumped his hips into her, his hold tightening before he withdrew, threw his head back, a guttural sound crawling its way out of his throat as he came, her pussy clenching around his cock until she felt spent and weak-legged.
Her throat ached by the time she stopped screaming. Long minutes ticked by as she tried to calm down enough she could open her eyes. The satisfaction on his face took her breath. He was watching her, those golden eyes bright in the crystal-walled cavern.
He didn’t move until their breathing had returned to normal. He lifted her and pulled out, then set her feet on the ground before pulling her underneath the waterfall with him. The cold water pulled another gasp from her throat. It was much colder than the pond.
The warlord took the soap bar still in her hand and washed every inch of her body, his hands lingering over her breasts and still hard nipples, then washed her hair. It felt damn good to be pampered, even if it was by a man who thought of her as one of his possessions. At the moment, she didn’t give a damn what she was other than his.
She sucked in a breath when he ran the soap bar over the new bite mark. It was already sore. His fingers lingered over it, his jaw tightening the longer he looked at it. That’s twice now he’d bitten her. His lips were still stained red. She knew from the things he ate he enjoyed the taste of blood and wondered how tasting hers differed from his evening meal. She also wondered how all this would affect their relationship and got her answer when he suddenly stepped away and turned his back to her.
“Leave me.”
Marcy stared at him. For a man who’d just had an intense orgasm—if the look on his face had been any indication—the sound of his voice was harsh, as if he were pissed off.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“You are now by disobeying me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Now, leave me.”
Her heart gave a tight cl
ench at his dismissal, as if what just happened didn’t even matter to him. Worst part was—it probably didn’t.
When he turned away, Marcy reached into the pool of water at her feet and fished out the shirt she’d been wearing and started back to the cave entrance. When her feet were on dry ground, she wrung the shirt out and slipped it back on. It hung past her knees now, the wet material pulling with the weight of the water in it.
She slipped her shoes on and glanced back at the warlord. He still had his back to her. What the hell had just happened? Why did he fuck her and then get mad about it? It wasn’t like she fell on his dick on purpose. He was the one who lifted her and made it possible. “Men,” she mumbled under her breath. “So fucking sensitive.”
Marcy headed out of the cave, scowling at Jorrick when she looked back over her shoulder at him. The sun was lowering when she started for the trail and she hoped no one saw her when she got back to camp. She was no stranger to the walk of shame, but it was usually just her girlfriends that were witness to it—not an entire camp of aliens who would have no doubt she’d been under that waterfall with the warlord, her wet hair and clothes all the proof they needed. Not that it really mattered. They probably all thought she was being fucked by him nightly, anyway.
No one looked her way when she stepped out from underneath the trees and headed toward the warlord’s hut, which she was thankful for. If she could get there without being noticed, then Jityria wouldn’t know what happened, because despite the fact the two of them had played a game of one-upping the other, this was one instance Marcy knew Jityria would probably kill her for. She didn’t know if Jityria was in love with the warlord or not but it didn’t matter. She’d staked claim on him and expected the females in camp to recognize it, which they all have. The only person who didn’t seem to care was the warlord himself.
Marcy stepped into the hut and pulled off the wet shirt, searching on top of one of the tables against the wall for another. Her mind was racing as she looked through the warlord’s clothing, the past half hour playing in her head on repeat. Things were about to get really awkward. She had to go out there and pretend nothing happened underneath that waterfall, pretend that he hadn’t had his hand between her legs, that she hadn’t ridden his fingers into the most satisfying orgasm in her entire life, then rode his cock into another. How was she supposed to look at him and not instantly think of that arrogant look on his face when she screamed and came all over his dick?
She finally found another shirt and slipped it on over her head, the entire bathing scene running through her mind again, his anger the most confusing. Why had he been angry? Had she done something wrong? No. The noise he’d made, the tightness of his arms as he hugged her to him and the pulsing length of his cock inside her said she hadn’t. He’d come hard—but something had pissed him off.
As she stepped out of the hut, she looked up the path for him. He wasn’t there, and she debated on heading back up the trail to ask him what she’d done wrong but thought better of it. He was mad about something and if he acted like a total dick to her now, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Something stupid, if she had to guess, like throw the first thing she got her hands on at him or ask him to do it again. Either way, one thing was certain. The warlord had just changed the dynamic between them and things were about to get real interesting.
Jorrick watched Grynn and Kyre spar, both of them dancing around the fire pit as they tried to avoid getting hit while he unsuccessfully tried to ignore Mar-see, who sat near his feet.
His body still ached with desire for her. Slaking that hunger should have put an end to the wanting, but it hadn’t. If anything, it’d made it worse—and that pissed him off more than anything had in ages. He didn’t want to want her. He didn’t want to feel anything where she was concerned and he’d thought if he just had her, he could put her out of his mind, but he could still taste her kiss. Still feel her arms around him, feel her legs around his waist as her cunt clenched down on his cock and he wanted to throw her on the ground and fuck her all over again. The fact nothing he’d done forced that desire away angered him more than anything else.
Leaning to one side, he watched her talking quietly with the humans they’d found, his thoughts still on what happened at the waterfall. He should have never touched her. Should have never enjoyed hearing her screams echo off the walls inside the cavern. And he shouldn’t be wanting to hear them again. But he did. His body pulsed with the need to hear it, to feel her hands on him, to feel her slick heat pulsing around his cock.
He wasn’t sure what even possessed him to have her come to him at the waterfall. Well, that’s not entirely true. He’d been watching her do nothing more than hang garments on a line and every time she moved, the long length of her thigh was exposed. When she bent to pick up another wet piece of cloth, the shirt she wore—his shirt—gaped open and he could see her full breasts. When she’d stood and looked toward him, something in the way she was staring at him made him think he wasn’t the only one thinking things they shouldn’t be … that maybe she wanted him as much as he wanted her, so he set out to test the theory.
Watching her walk into the water toward him had made him ache. He knew she was trying to avoid looking at his cock and it made him harder knowing she was. Having her wash him was to see if she’d do only that but she hadn’t stood there woodenly and washed him, she’d lingered, her hands sliding over his flesh and leaving a burning path in their wake. He’d felt more alive in that moment than he had since Zasra had nearly destroyed him.
When he’d turned to face her, he’d heard her heart rate increase as she looked down at him. He’d smelled the sweet scent of her cunt a moment later and all rational thought had left him. He’d wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against his own and slid his fingers between her legs like he’d wanted to do for multiple moon falls.
He could still feel the heat of her scorching him if he thought about it hard enough, the scent of her still in his head, and damn his soul he wanted her again. Wanted her underneath him, her breath panted out as he filled her.
He wanted her. He wasn’t able to deny it any longer. If she betrayed him like Zasra did, then he’d kill her and be done with it but—he was done denying himself something that he had every right to take. He’d drive himself insane with the wanting if he didn’t. From this moment on, he was going to take what he wanted and damn the consequences. He was the warlord! He still wanted her and it was his right to have her and from now on, he would.
Chapter Thirteen
He hadn’t stopped looking at her since he came back from the waterfall and it was—awkward. At the evening meal she’d avoided eye contact with him in fear of what she’d see. If he acted as if what had happened meant nothing, it would have been soul crushing, but if she saw that same look in his eyes that had been there at the waterfall, then she’d be completely lost, once again sucked in by a hot guy who probably didn’t like her as much as she thought he did. It was a curse. She always picked Mr. Wrong and if anyone fit that description, it was the warlord. So what if he kissed her like she was the only woman on the whole damn planet and he’d die without her tongue in his mouth? History always repeated itself and she didn’t think, just because she was who knew how many galaxies away from Earth, that it wouldn’t happen again. That the men here would be any different. If she had to guess, she’d say they were the same regardless of where you were in the solar system. They were men. They thought with their dicks and she’d have to be proven wrong to believe any different. The warlord was going to hurt her. Maybe not physically but her heart was destined for heartbreak and she knew it was just a matter of time before hers shattered.
The drink the aliens drank that had burned her gut and intoxicated her worse than anything else ever had was overflowing in everyone’s cup again tonight. Vorta was playing his nidi as usual and one of the other aliens had pulled one of the small stools they used to sit on between his legs and was beating on the seat like a drum.
Krista
said something to her that she couldn’t hear. She leaned forward, but the girl had just smiled and shook her head as if it didn’t matter.
Jityria stepped up on the dais and handed the warlord his cup. He took it with a nod and much to Marcy’s surprise, Jityria didn’t leave. She sat on the arm of the warlord’s chair as if she’d been asked to do so and nursed her own cup of alien juice, as Sara had called it.
The merriment grew and more drinks flowed. Marcy had actually started to enjoy herself for the first time since arriving in camp until she turned to see Jityria leaned over whispering in the warlord’s ear. She didn’t think much of it at first as the music and laughter were loud, but when the warlord laughed and Jityria smiled and looked her way, something in her chest clenched tight.
What had she said to him? In the entire time she’d been there, she’d never seen the warlord smile, nor heard him laugh. Him doing both while that evil harpy sat beside him let that ole green-eyed monster jealousy, rear his ugly head.
“She’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
Marcy glanced at Krista briefly before turning her attention back to the aliens who were sparing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughed. “Right.” Krista slid closer to her. “She goes out of her way to annoy you.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“Yep. About as obvious as it is that she’s in love with the warlord and he only has eyes for you.”
Marcy snorted a laugh. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”
“I would. You might not notice how he looks at you but everyone else has.”
“And how does he look at me?”
“Like he wants to throw you to the nearest flat surface and doesn’t give a damn who sees him do it.”
Jityria laughed and Marcy refused to be baited. She kept her eyes straight ahead of her, even though she was dying to look back over her shoulder to see what they were doing.
