by Angel Payne
Who wants to do a hell of a lot worse to Faline the Bitch.
After we sway and sob and whisper to each other for a few minutes, I finally let her step back and clear the wetness off her cheeks. I do the same, and we snort back snot before submitting to manic giggles. We’d probably keep going, letting the whole thing devolve into off-key renditions of “My Heart Will Go On” in honor of Leo, but are interrupted by Sawyer politely clearing his throat. We lift our heads in time to see Ethan and Mitch wearing the same quietly nonplussed expressions.
“What?” Lydia charges. “You guys never seen a couple of chicks break down and then giggle it out before?”
Mitch gets in the first comeback to that one. “Honey, not even from the craziest drag queens I know.”
Ethan, having finished a bite of his folded pizza, declares, “Speaking of crazy… Will filling us in on that harpy’s motives be a breach of national security?” He cocks a defined black brow our way. “Or—gasp—girl code?”
Inside ten seconds, four pairs of eyes lock onto me. Five now, including a newly awakened Alex, who’s watching from the couch. It takes me half that time to color from neck to scalp, wondering why I can easily lead a small army of fundraiser volunteers but have no idea what to say as the spokesperson for Team Bolt.
I disguise my desperation behind a thoughtful façade, directing my own gaze toward the windows. It’s a clear but cold afternoon on the Hudson, the water like liquid slate beneath a sky just slightly brighter, its expanse flowing with coffee creamer clouds. I long to be gazing at the scene from the crook of Reece’s arm, watching old movies from the couch instead of trying to figure out how to give these guys the truth without imparting information that could make them targets for the Consortium. But it might be too late for that already, right?
Hell.
The word repeats through my mind, doubled down with intensity, the second Kane reenters the room. While his pace isn’t frantic, it pounds the floorboards hard enough to jerk everyone to their feet. His Stallone-on-a-mission expression backs up that grit—and turns my stomach into a knot.
“What?” I demand at once, rushing to meet him. “What is it? Is Reece awake?”
Kane doesn’t hesitate longer than a second to answer—but in that instant, his face is hit by such a jarring jolt of weirdness, his bearish brawn taken over by uncertainty, that I yearn for the seconds of being conquered by my stupid blush again.
“You’d…just better come,” he finally utters. “Right now.” I don’t think twice about following him out of the room, but instead of guiding me back to the bedroom, he veers into the bathroom. Once we’re there, he speaks again—though the next thing from his mouth isn’t any more reassuring than his ominous preface. “Fuck.”
Especially because it’s the same thought in my head.
All concept of reality leaves my logic. Any remaining grasp on reason slips over the ledge of my rationale. While the shifts are scarily easy to identify now—experience gives a girl that advantage—they’re no easier to deal with. Again with the damn lack of a manual. Not even a Facebook group.
But if there was, how the hell would I phrase this post?
Hey, gang—LOL—you’ll never believe this—the old man’s on his knees in the shower, turning every drop of water into a fresh electron. It’s kinda pretty and super blue. Any advice on who to call? Doctor? Plumber? Electrician? Exorcist? Respond with a gif if you want…
But nobody would believe a gif like this.
I don’t even want to believe, and I’m looking at it from three feet away.
“He said he needed to get in the shower,” Kane explains, past lips that have gone as pale as his skin. “Of course, I noticed the obvious…” Reece’s erection, huger and harder than I’ve ever seen it, is a blatant visual aid. “So I asked him if getting you wouldn’t be a better idea.”
I compress my lips. “And he probably threatened to carve your balls out if you did.”
Kane clears his throat. “Something along those lines.”
“Because he thought he’d hurt me if I came to him.”
“Will he?”
I reach out, steadying my stance by grabbing the towel rack. Reece’s eyes don’t open, but he flinches. He knows I’m here but is just too weak to debate the point. Hell, he can’t even move to turn off the shower—if that’s what it can be called anymore. As soon as the drops from the showerhead hit the air that’s charged with his electrical field, they turn into brilliant azure sparks, flaring around and on top of him. It’s lightning in a really huge bottle—with a significant refugee caught in the middle of the storm.
Significant?
My ass.
Reece Richards isn’t “significant.”
He’s invaluable. Irreplaceable.
My man.
My more.
The conviction blazes through me as bright as the tempest in the shower, only its flares are more permanent. As the heat embeds itself deeper, it lights the way more clearly for what I have to do now—starting with facing Kane with newly set shoulders and a gaze filled with resolve.
“You did the right thing,” I assure him. “Thank you.”
My clarity brings his back. He nods, looking less like we’re harboring an alien lifeform and should be expecting a knock any second from NASA, TSA, INTERPOL, or worse. “You look like you have a plan.” He looks relieved to be stating that too.
“I do.”
“So what are we doing here?”
“Uh-uh.” I shake my head and plant hands on my waist. “What I’m going to do here.”
As I expect, the big guy isn’t so good with that. “Which is…what?”
“What I have to.” I don’t elaborate, letting him think I have more of a plan beyond that. “Just keep everyone out of here. The bedroom too.” Again, no more details—because again, I don’t have them. It’s not like I can just yank open the shower door, toss Reece a come-hither smirk, and get him to join me in the bedroom. In attempting to cool off the biggest power surge his system’s ever known, he’s created his own paralysis chamber.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I repeat it in a desperate mutter as soon as Kane exits to the living room and shuts the door. I have no idea what he’s going to tell the others about all this, and I don’t care. I can’t care.
The only thing that matters right now is the man before me—locked down by his own lightning.
But that means he can unlock it—if I can help him. Get through to him…somehow…
The first step to accomplishing that? Making sure my own shit stays locked down and shut tight. Every tear, every reaction, every expression, every emotion—it’s all dumped onto the conveyor belt leading to the mental lockbox. If Reece gets a whiff, a glance, or a taste of my distress, “thunderbolts and lightning” won’t be just a cute rock anthem line anymore.
“So get a grip,” I order myself, turning it into a full-on mantra to accompany my slow steps toward the shower.
Toward the man who needs me now more than ever.
Dear God, please don’t let it be too late…
“Get a grip. Get a grip. Get a grip.” The repetitions come faster as I inch closer. I stop just once, forcing back horrified tears as I behold his empty, unblinking stare. Those eyes, normally so vibrant and in pace with the rapid-fire thoughts in his head, are now stunned and tormented… But after another step, I can see details that weren’t evident before. Things that make me want to sob again—in gratitude.
Most importantly, he’s not paralyzed. Tiny tremors rack every toned muscle of his naked form, making him look like some beautiful space creature from a planet with a cobalt sun. Even if that was the case, I’d cross the cosmos to get through to him—and I wonder if this experience might feel exactly like that in the end.
But even that recognition won’t stop me from trying.
One step at a time.
And for God’s sake, keep your grip.
I inhale deeply, pushing air into every cell I ca
n. His shivers are a good sign, indicating that at least his nervous system is functioning right. I’ll gratefully take it—and run with it.
As I creep a little closer, Reece flinches harder. I hope that means what I think it does. If he’s reacting to me like this, most of his senses are still engaged too—and that includes his hearing. For now, that’s all I need.
At last, just outside the shower stall, I lower into a crouch. Tentatively, I press one hand to the glass. It’s warm but not hot. Another good sign.
“Reece,” I whisper. “It’s me.”
He shudders harder. I carefully watch his gaze, my heart handspringing as his pupils jerk, attempting to look at me.
“It’s okay, baby. Don’t try to look at me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Inside the stall, the sparks increase in violence and brilliance.
Not good.
“Okay, okay.” I struggle to coat my voice in control instead of the panic rushing my veins. “Try to breathe, okay? And do not try to move.”
I issue it all as an order because it is. But with calculated care, I’m the one doing the moving. Trying not to shift my form in his peripheral at all, I start to strip from the waist down. Thank God all I really have to worry about are a pair of socks and my leggings.
“Good,” I praise as he works to comply while I complete my own preparation. Minimizing my motions is like trying to hold a tricky yoga pose. Knowing it’s possible and making it happen are two different things. Finally, finally, I’m finished—and force the inevitable follow-up thoughts out of my head, in direct contrast to what my naked skin is all but screaming. I’m about to climb into that electro-hell with him…
Because there’s no other acceptable choice.
If I fry with him, then we’ll face forever together.
But if my theory holds water…
Bad pun. But still a valid idea.
I just need one more element for success. His help.
“Okay, baby. Now for the hard part.” I lift a hand to the stall’s handle, fully letting him notice me now. “I’m going to come in.” Brighter sparks, violent and white—and hot. I can feel their blazes through the glass, but I’m beyond being afraid now. “And you can knock the Bolt tantrum off because you don’t get a say in this. All I need you to do is pull it back inside, okay? I know it’ll hurt, baby. I know it won’t be easy or any kind of pleasant. But I just need three seconds. Reece.” I pound on the word as well as the glass as he quakes even harder. “I’m counting on you, dork. Do you hear me? Three seconds, okay?”
I twist my fingers harder around the handle.
Take a brutal breath in.
Let a harsher one back out.
“On the count of three, Mr. Richards.” A hard gulp. A ton of rocks in my throat. Fifty gallons of adrenaline in my blood. “One. Two. Three.”
Chapter Five
Reece
Three seconds.
That’s all it takes.
Three fucking seconds in which I’m so terrified of killing her, I gladly eviscerate myself with lightning.
Three horrific seconds in which every fiber of my body is deep fried in agony and every brain cell in my skull is consumed by a silent scream.
Three incredible seconds in which I can do nothing but watch as she sweeps over me, fits her body on top of me, and impales her perfect pussy with the hard length of me.
Three seconds before I lose control inside her…
And she brings me back to life.
“Emma.” It bursts from me on a parched croak but instantly turns into a rejoicing moan. “Emma…lina… Fuck.” Then various versions of that along with a lot of nonsensical utterings, my own version of speaking in tongues as I worship her with my voice but abuse her with my body. But she takes it, digging her hands against my scalp and sinking her teeth into my neck, continuing to ride my cock through my endless, merciless orgasm.
She came to New York to try to figure out our trust issues. But in three seconds, she’s shown me the most beautiful version of the stuff there is. Bursting into my nightmare, ready to die in it by my side if she couldn’t save me from it with her passion. Her hope. Her love.
Our connection.
The joy of it rises through me, claiming me in a fresh wave of adoration in return. And heat. And desire. And absolute, electric love.
Every muscle in my body springs to life. My arms are full of fiber-optic force as I slide my hands beneath her sweatshirt and grab her waist in the name of controlling her rhythm. I drive her harder onto me, ramming her down, over and over again, until our flesh slaps loudly in concert with the water spattering around us. With my power redirected into a much better receptacle, even the shower can be itself again, raining down as we keep kissing and groaning and tasting and fucking.
Dear God. I never want to pull out of her again.
Part of me wonders if I’ll ever be able to.
“I can’t stop,” I tell her, thrusting even higher as my cock swells even tighter.
“Then don’t.” Her voice is a whispered plea as her body convulses around my dick. “Reece. Reece. Please don’t!”
I stare at her face, coursing with water and lust, as she throws her head back in the grip of another climax. The sight, along with her exquisite begging, revitalizes my own endless release. With a primal groan, I let the force of it take over. The heat shooting up my cock no longer feels born of just my balls. It’s a conduit for everything inside me, rushing and racing to flood into her. My essence. My soul. My power. My heart. Every element that has made me a real hero, not just a mutant freak…belongs to her.
Is her.
Especially now, as she peels off her sweatshirt. As her nudity gleams before me, slick and wet and perfect. As her limbs wrap me and protect me, all I can ever want.
As her love infuses and completes me…all I can ever need.
* * *
Unbelievable.
Though I never thought it would actually happen, my cock finally hit E, and my body swiftly followed.
Now, having let the woman talk me into letting her go long enough so we could stumble to the bedroom and crash on an actual mattress, I’ve woken from the sleep of the dead—not as much of an exaggeration as I wish—with my arms enveloping silken naked curves, my face buried in dawn-bright hair, and my cock seeking a tight, wet entry point.
There.
Oh hell, yes.
Keeping my lips at Emma’s nape, I nudge a thigh between hers so her legs open a little wider for me. She rustles a little, but I still her with one hand atop her thigh.
“It’s all right, Velvet.” I nip into the curve between her neck and shoulder, ordering myself to take it at least a little slow. After the way I took her in the shower, sore is likely just the start of her condition right now.
But no way am I stopping completely.
This time, I’m not fucking her because I have to.
I’m loving her because I want to.
Though damn it all, the woman’s sweet, sensual moan might change that outlook pretty fucking fast—especially when she adds little rolls of her hips, caressing my erection with the firm cushions of her ass. And especially when she turns the moan into a mewl before murmuring, “It’s not all right, because you’re not inside me yet.”
Sassy, bossy girl. Sexy-as-hell woman. Her impudence awakens answering instincts in me, compelling me to push on her hip until she’s rolled over, flat on her stomach against the mattress. I follow her over, forcing her legs wider with my knees as I slide my hand up, ending only when I push two fingers against her parted mouth.
“Suck.”
I grate the directive into her ear, my tone clarifying her options for refusal. There are none. Luckily, and with a willing whimper, the woman complies. As she licks at the digits I sluice in and out of her mouth, I take the chance to fill her in on a few more details of how this is going to go down right now.
“You were in charge in the shower. But we’re not in the shower anymore. It
’s my way now, and you’ll fucking enjoy it. Understood?”
With a darker moan, she nods her head—and increases the suction on my fingers. I’m unable to control my approving growl as I watch her plump, perfect lips take my fingers deep inside her wet cavity.
“Holy Christ, Velvet. I’m half tempted to screw my original plans and slide my cock right into that naughty mouth of yours.” Because I can’t help myself, I insert a third finger past her mesmerizing lips. Then a fourth. “But you already know that, don’t you? And you’d love nothing better…to feel my come coursing through your body before it flows down to your cunt and makes you climax from the inside out?”
The new urgency of her sighs is worth the cost of the fantasy on the length of my dick. My skin is stretched so taut it’s painful, with every vein shoving at the flesh like snakes under satin. Bittersweet torment. Unreal anticipation.
And at last, the impetus for my next guttural instruction to her.
“Raise your hands over your head. Wrists together.” As I raise my dry hand to capture her there, locking her down against the pillows, I pull the other from her mouth, redeploying those soaked fingers to breach the tunnel of her sex. When that carnal passage responds in all the best ways, I stab in a little more. Retreat until I’m nearly out but then slide back in, growling as she gushes all over my digits. I pause only to reach for the nightstand, where Kane parked my toiletries bag after I first woke up and he assumed all I needed was an ibuprofen. Still don’t need the ibuprofen, but a fresh growl vibrates off my lips when I’m able to add some lube to this little party.
“Damn!” Emma cries as I work the liquid in by twisting my hand, intruding deeper, shocking her intimate walls. “Ohhhh, dear God. Damn.”
