by Vonna Harper
No! She would not control him!
Control belonged to him.
Mala jerked awake. She’d barely comprehended that she’d fallen asleep at her work bench when the full truth of what was happening struck her. No matter that she was alone with only the breeze from the overhead fan to keep her company, Laird had found her.
No, not Laird. Thunder.
Thunder, who understood her body better than she ever could.
She stood because she had no choice. Self-control had nothing to do with walking over to where she felt the moist air moving over her throat. Without so much as trying to stop herself, she stripped off her clothes. Divesting herself of her underwear took the longest because nudity, especially nudity he demanded, made her feel incredibly exposed, but she had no choice or control over what her hands were doing. Finally, she stood with her shirt, shorts, bra, and panties pooled around her feet with her arms and legs spread and her head uplifted.
“What do you want?” she insisted. “Damn it, why are you doing this?”
“You know.”
Two words, two powerful words and her clitoris buzzed. “Because this is how you get your jollies.”
“No, not that.”
“What then?”
His hands caressed her breasts.
“Do you remember what happened between us?” he asked.
“How can I possibly forget?”
His hands massaged her belly.
“I don’t—damn it, I don’t want you doing that.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
His hands explored her inner thighs.
“Laird, please!”
“Soon you will be satisfied.”
“You…” The last remnants of rational thought slipped away. Mindless, she arched her back and spread her legs, desperate to give him full access to the part of her that belonged to him anyway. With rough and confident fingers, he deftly separated her heated folds and probed deep inside her.
“Oh God, thank you.”
“Mine to do what I must with.”
He was wrong. Her shuddering climax was her own.
But he’d made it possible.
Compelled it.
Thunder’s lips curled into a smile. He pushed aside the small length of leather that was his only clothing and touched his swollen cock. In his mind, he saw the woman standing naked with her hands between her legs. Her head had fallen back, and her breath came in gasps. He smelled her body’s juices and felt her uncontrolled spasms. Although he couldn’t hear what she was saying, he read her lips. She was begging him, first to leave her alone, then to bring her to climax. He obeyed her command because that had been his intention from the beginning. She shuddered, jerked. Her mouth fell open and her limbs trembled. She cried.
Good. She would not forget his domination of her. Was that all he wanted from her? Wasn’t there something more, something that had to do with his mouth gentle on her neck and wanting to feel her lips on his?
Posed to masturbate, he was distracted by an unfamiliar sound. Crouching, he cocked his head so he could better listen. Unfortunately, the swamp’s song prevented him from distinguishing what didn’t fit from the rest. Just the same, he drew his knife out of its leather sheath. According to the Seminole scouts he’d talked to earlier, a troop of perhaps a dozen soldiers had been camped near a large cypress swamp. As long as the enemy remained there, they represented no threat, but he had no doubt that they’d soon be on the move again. He had to shadow them and, if necessary, warn his people if the enemy got too close.
His cock was no longer as swollen as it had been a minute ago, but he still couldn’t concentrate as fully as he should. He shook his head and sucked in hot, humid air that smelled of swamp gases and lush vegetation. Dimly he remembered other smells from the life he’d lived before joining his people, but those memories were fading. It was as it should be. He needed to become a Seminole warrior, nothing else.
Without warning, something slammed into his side. The force threw him forward and onto his knees, distracting him from a sharp rifle retort. Before he’d regained his breath, he fought his way back onto his feet. Strength was draining from him. His side screamed in pain. When he touched it, his hand became coated in blood.
Voices. Yelling. Too close.
Growling in shock and anger, Thunder stumbled toward several close-growing hardwood trees and hid behind the nearest one. Night was coming. Night might save him. His vision blurred, and when he tried to shake his head to clear it, agony dropped his legs out from under him. He slid onto his rump and hands, briefly losing his grip on his knife. Only half conscious now, he instinctively drew the knife to his chest. A minute, maybe two, then the worst of the pain would be over. He could think again.
Plan for survival.
Mala had taken the proverbial cold shower following her self-satisfaction and had managed to fall back into an uneasy sleep, but when consciousness returned, she wasn’t surprised. After all, hadn’t she learned, in spades, that getting free of Laird’s particular brand of mind and body control wouldn’t be easy?
Only—only what?
Sitting up, she turned on the lamp on her nightstand. The sudden light forced her to close her eyes until they adjusted. A quick inventory told her that, no, the man who now thought of himself as Thunder had no interest in getting her to play with herself again. Something else had made him reach out.
Something intertwined with pain.
Confused by the burning sensation in her side, she slipped out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom. A thorough examination reinforced what her searching fingers had already told her which was she had no injury there. And yet—damn, that hurt!
No, not her. Him.
Cold fear tightened her nipples and made swallowing difficult.
He was hurt.
Alone and vulnerable.
The long night had given way to day before Thunder felt fully conscious again. Hard as it was to manage his pain, he was thankful to it for clearing his head. From what he’d been able to determine, the bullet hadn’t lodged itself in him. He’d felt no broken ribs, no sense that any vital organs had been pierced, but he’d lost a lot of blood and pressing leaves against his wound hadn’t completely stopped the bleeding.
Like the hunted animal he’d been last night, he’d remained silent. He had foggy memories of hearing men and horses nearby, the hot taste of fear he’d never tell anyone about. When, finally, the enemy had ridden off, he’d given thanks to the spirits who’d protected him.
However, although he was fairly sure no one was waiting to ambush him, he had no delusions about the danger to his village. The soldiers had been on the move because they thought they knew where the Seminole fugitives were hiding. Because they foolishly insisted on traveling on horseback, they had to circumvent swampy areas and where vegetation grew too close together, but eventually they’d find the village.
He, Thunder, had to warn his people.
Weak, he had no choice but to frequently stop and rest. He berated himself for allowing himself to be distracted from his mission. At the same time, he refused to admit that weakness of the flesh had been solely responsible.
She—he couldn’t remember her name—was evil. One of the enemy.
Gathering himself, he continued his lurching walk. He kept his hand against his side so his bandage would stay in place and had returned his knife to its sheath. His bow and quiver were still lashed to his back, but he didn’t trust himself to be able to use the weapon. It would take a precious second to free the knife and have it at the ready, but he had no choice. Every step hurt. Every step increased his anger.
If he ever got his hands on her again, she’d wish she’d never been born. He’d fasten his hands around her neck and choke the life out of her, but not—but not until she’d felt the full fury of his rage. She thought him weak, did she? A man with a man’s needs? A man enslaved by her sexual power?
Power was his!
It would be the last lesson she�
��d ever learn.
“Where are you?”
“I know you’re here. Don’t ask me how I do—or how I knew to come here. I did, and that’s all that matters.”
Frustrated by the sing-song inside her brain, Mala clenched her fists. She felt fourteen kinds of a fool for having driven back into the damnable Everglades and repeating the too-familiar ritual of leaving her car and walking into the wilderness—in the middle of the night no less. She hadn’t questioned why she’d taken off in a different direction this time with only the moon to guide her but could easily strangle whoever had decided she was up to crashing through endless plants. What was wrong with a path—even one created by wild animals? But no, Thunder was truly out in the middle of nowhere this time.
In the middle of nowhere, and hurt, she amended. She’d had enough presence of mind to pack a small first aid kit along with a bottle of water which, along with her practical tennis shoes, should have made her feel semi-in-control of the situation. Unfortunately, it didn’t.
After all, there was no denying that this was the most insane thing she’d ever done.
Insane and frightening.
Vital.
As she slogged through yet another boggy area, she fought having to admit to what frightened her the most. Maybe believing Thunder had been wounded had only been a nightmare. If that was the case, she was out here for no reason—well, maybe the reason was she needed an excuse to find him so he could fuck her again.
Swell! When you get the hots for a man, you really go off the deep end.
Oh, hell! Was that it? She’d become his sex toy? No.
“Damn you, Laird, or Thunder, whatever you want to call yourself,” she said because the depth of what she felt for him frightened her. “I don’t need this. All right, I do not under any circumstances need this!”
“Yes, you do.”
She’d lifted her left leg in preparation for stepping over a rotting log when something shoved her from behind. Throwing out her arms, she kept from falling by bracing herself against the log. She spun around, desperate to defend herself against her attacker.
Thunder! He launched himself at her like a panther leaps for its prey. His greater weight knocked her off balance. Together, they slid off the log. She landed on her back, pinned between the log and ground with an all but naked man now crouched over her.
“Laird!” she screamed although instinct told her the name meant nothing to him. “Laird, it’s me!”
He growled deep in his throat. His menacing stance chilled her—but not enough that she didn’t see his blood-soaked side. “I felt you,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “In my dreams and—you know.”
His blazing eyes told her he cared about nothing except survival. At least he wasn’t trying to kill her. This man had fucked her senseless, maybe even made love to her. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“What happened?” She indicated his side. “Who hurt you?”
From the way he was acting, she couldn’t tell if he understood a word she’d said.
“That’s what I felt, isn’t it?” His reaction or lack of one didn’t matter. She’d keep on talking because maybe something would get through to him. “I knew you’d been wounded. Maybe even without being aware of it, you sent me a message.”
His next growl was lower, deeper.
“You haven’t forgotten me. I’ll never believe that.” Please, let that be true! “And you won’t hurt me.” But maybe you’re not the man I let crawl inside me. Maybe he died.
He stepped closer so that only a few inches separated them. Because she hadn’t dared try to stand, she was forced to stare up at him. She’d landed on something sharp, but whatever was digging into her shoulder blade only briefly distracted her.
“I shouldn’t have let you leave,” she whispered. “Somehow I should have found a way to keep you with me. If I had, this wouldn’t have happened.” She nodded at his side. “But Laird—Thunder—whatever has hold of you is so powerful.”
Words she didn’t comprehend spewed out of him.
“Are the Seminole all right? You’ve been so worried about—about your people. The soldiers—is that who did this to you?”
He cocked his head to one side as if trying to understand. It suddenly dawned on her that they could be in danger. What if whoever had wounded him was nearby? She barely gave her own safety a thought, but Thunder’s life was in danger. She had to get him out of here and into a hospital.
Propelled by a sense of purpose, she turned onto her side in preparation for getting onto her hands and knees. He rammed his hand against her shoulder, knocking her back again. Fury and fear warred inside her. She struggled to manage both emotions.
“I’m no threat to you. Surely you understand that.”
He’d again assumed his aggressive stance, but even as she fought to ignore that, she became aware of his vulnerability. It wasn’t just that she sensed his blood loss caused weakness. With his legs widespread, she had an almost unlimited view of his cock behind the loose, short loincloth. His cock wasn’t swollen and hard, but neither was it limp.
“You’ve fucked me every way a woman can be fucked,” she admitted. “Well, almost. Even when we weren’t together, I felt you inside me. I was helpless to do anything about it, even more helpless than I am now. Everything you wanted me to do, I did. Now—now I want one thing from you.”
He appeared to be listening. How much he comprehended, she couldn’t say.
“Let me take care of you. Get you out of here.”
His eyes darkened. His hand inched closer to his knife. Her mouth went dry. Unable to think of anything to say, she risked taking her gaze off him. The Everglades intruded from all sides, and the air was alive with the sound of countless unseen creatures. Humidity pressed down on her. For the life of her, she didn’t know how she’d gotten here. Nothing mattered more than getting the hell out—with him.
Sucking in a deep breath, she reached up. Her hand closed around his cock. Calling herself insane, she nevertheless began stroking him. He started to draw back, then stopped. His cock swelled.
“You do remember,” she whispered. Moving her fingers closer to his balls, she increased her hold on him. Her clitoris buzzed, but she clamped her legs together, determined to ignore her response. Then she noticed he was staring at what she’d done, and immediately spread herself wide.
“You want me,” she said in a sing-song tone. “And I want you. Do it. Now.”
Hoping to give weight to her words, she flexed her knees, looking for all the world as if she was preparing for a gynecological exam. “When you’re done—when we’ve finished, I’ll get you to a doctor.”
She fully expected him to reach for her, but he didn’t move.
“Why do you think I came all this way? Because I haven’t had enough of you.” I’ll never have enough of you.
He continued to look down at her. Other than his engorged penis, he seemed unaware of what she was doing to him.
“Thunder, please.” Determined to get through to him, she reached for his necklace. Before she could touch it, however, he yanked his knife free of its sheath and dropped to the ground with his knees pressed against her lower legs. The movement tore his cock from her grasp. The knife was so close she couldn’t see it clearly, knew only that he’d aimed it at her throat.
“No!”
Propelled by her scream, she threw out her hand, hoping to deflect the deadly blade. At the same time, she wrenched herself to the side. The knife was only inches from her throat, coming closer.
“No!”
Acting instinctively, she rammed her fist into his wounded side. He grunted and knocked her hand away. He’d become a blur—a blur now intent on slicing her throat open.
“Thunder, no!” she screamed. She pulled her leg tight up against her and let it fly. Her heel ground into his side.
He growled, then slumped to the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
When the cloud that had enve
loped Thunder lifted, he noticed the woman before the pain in his side made its impact. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but she wasn’t dressed like the women from his village and didn’t smell like them. She was speaking to him, and he struggled to make sense of her strange words.
Instead of feeling like a trapped and helpless animal, he found himself being drawn to her. She held his knife and was far enough away that he couldn’t reach it without getting to his feet—something he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to accomplish. If only the side of his head where she’d hit him would stop throbbing.
“Sorry,” she said. Then she repeated the word.
“So-rry?”
Her face lit up, and for a moment he thought she was going to embrace him. She didn’t which left him wondering what his reaction would have been.
“That I hurt you,” she said.
He blinked and started to shake his head but stopped when his headache worsened.
“You understand me?” she asked.
“Y-es.”
“Thank goodness! How-how did that happen to you?” She pointed at his side.
He touched himself there, wincing as sweat from his hand burned the wound. “I do not know,” he admitted.
“You don’t remember?”
Everything was confusing. One thing he was positive about: he’d never admitted weaknesses to anyone. He wasn’t going to start now, particularly not with this intriguing and disturbing woman.
“I’m not surprised.” She spoke in a soothing voice, but there was nothing soothing about her impact on him. In truth, her every word touched a nerve ending. “You’ve been through so much.”
He struggled to sit up. The effort stole his breath and left him panting in pain, but he completed the formidable task without accepting her outstretched hand. Now he was sitting with his weight mostly on his uninjured side. She scooted closer.
