Kismet

by Beth D. Carter

  “Yeah,” I say, “kind of. I usually have a slight headache afterward, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  He grows pensive again, his brows bunching up over his dark eyes. “Shalana is going to talk to her people,” he says gruffly. “You’ve saved them. Everything you told me, Evie—you were right.”

  I don’t need to answer. I can hear the wonderment swirling in his voice, and this response is all too familiar. I’ve dealt with it before, but I don’t want wonderment or reverence from him. I want acceptance; I want understanding.

  “You’re some type of angel,” he whispers.

  Okay, time to cut this shit out.

  “Listen, Kris, I do believe this foresight came from some higher power,” I tell him, reaching up to cup his face and turning it toward me. Surprisingly, he doesn’t pull away. “I’ve seen the ugliness of what men can do to each other, and I have to think that, with such empty darkness, I was given a measure of hope for those who have none. But I am not an angel.” I stress this. “I am not any kind of divinity.”

  He frowns down at me, and I’m almost glad that the dazed adoration has been replaced with skepticism again. But then even that disappears as a change comes over him. Awareness arcs between us like electricity. Heat darkens his eyes to shining onyx, and just as I go to pull away, he grabs my upper arms to haul me into his lap. At first I’m surprised, off balance, but when his lips crash down on mine, I recover my senses quickly and meet the thrust of his tongue with my own.

  His hands, which had gripped my arms, slide down to my legs and help me bring my left leg over. I now straddle him, and this position brings my thighs wide open and flush against what I feel to be a very hard cock yearning for me. His lips leave mine to trail down my neck, taking little nips in an almost painful way. One hand braces against my back, palm flat to hold me in place while the other starts to tug at my shirt.

  I can’t help moving, arching my back against his hand while thrusting my pelvis into his. He mutters a low groan that has a slight echo through the tunnel. Rough fingertips find their way under my black shirt and under my sports bra, to cup my breast. I have an average cup size, not too big or too small, and his hand engulfs me fully. His thumb flicks over the nipple once before his fingers start to roll it with greedy tugs, and the pleasure scorches over my body to center into my pussy. I clench my thighs tight to try to ease the desperate need blossoming, but that backfires as the hunger erupts. I can actually feel my skin burning.

  “Oh,” I rasp, “so good… More—give me more.”

  I have never experienced this almost pleasure-pain Kris’s ministrations are inflicting. I have never realized that I would find such stimulation so…well, stimulating. I want, no, I crave more.

  I reach down to tug my shirt up and over my head and make similar work of my sports bra. I sit astride Kris’s legs, bare from the waist up, the end of my braid brushing his thighs. This position thrusts my breasts out, toward his mouth, and he eagerly accepts my invitation as his lips and teeth take over the delicious torment.

  Kris is not gentle; he is not a tender type of man, and his lovemaking reflects that. His exploration of my body is raw, wild, almost savage. His fingertips compress into my skin rather than glide over it, but I discover I really don’t care how sweet or smooth he ought to be. I am returning his fervor with my own.

  He grabs the tail of my braid and yanks my head back, causing tears to collect in the corners of my eyes, but this position gives him better access to slide up with his tongue, taking nibbling bites along the way. His right thumb and finger, meanwhile, still rolls one nipple, playing with it until it stands turgid.

  Our mouths fuse again; his tongue sweeps in to duel with mine, because I sense with Kris, it’s all about the dominance. I submit, more than happy to surrender to such bliss. Then, as he’s still kissing me, he scoots me upward until I stand. He breaks off the kiss so he can focus on my pants, unzipping them and yanking, pulling them and my panties off in one tug. I put my hands on his shoulders for balance as I step out of the pants and then stand naked and proud before his hot gaze.

  I know what he is seeing. Long, athletic legs, flat tummy, and curving hips. I had always been a tad too skinny as a teenager, but the past six years, living the way I have has toned and tightened my body. I’m proud of the way I look, and I can see by the heat gathering in Kris’s eyes that I more than turn him on.

  He trails his fingers over my hips and then down my thighs to find the warm wetness oozing from my pussy. I shudder. He delves deeper to find that one special spot that always makes me crack. I buck, and my knees halfway collapse, but Kris has other ideas on how he wants me. He grabs my hips again and pushes me back far enough to give him some room as he removes everything. There is something very sexy to me about watching a man deweaponize himself. And he has a lot: guns of multiple calibers, knives, throwing stars, and some odd-looking cone things I’ve never seen before. Where had he been hiding that blast bomb?

  After his weaponry foreplay, he quickly divests himself of his clothes—first the torn shirt and then the pants. I watch as he pushes them down and then has to bend to unlace his boots. His body is big, all hard muscles over dark, smooth skin. He has a tattoo on his upper-right shoulder. I eye the odd triangle infinity symbol.

  In seconds he is naked, like me, standing tall and proud. His cock juts out like a steel rod. I take it in my hands, tracing the lines and contours, learning how it responds to my touch. A drop of white liquid appears on the tip, and I capture it with a finger and bring it to my lips, tasting him. He gives an almost painful groan, and his cock jerks in my hand. I look up at him.

  “I would love nothing more than to have you suck me,” he rasps, his voice gone gruff. “But I need to be inside you.”

  He takes his first two fingers and finds my clit again, rubbing and teasing it, until I’m as taut as a bowstring. I want to come so bad. I start rocking my hips against this hand to increase the pressure so I will blow my top, but he doesn’t oblige me. For a man who has never fucked before, or even liked being touched, he’s doing an amazing job, knowing just what to do right.

  He backs up and sits down again, keeping his knees slightly open. He pulls my legs astride him and then holds his cock up. I have a moment to see it, all veined with a huge purplish red head glistening with the early drops of cum. Then, with his left hand, he pulls me forward until my dripping pussy is poised over his searching cock. I can almost see it try to reach for my heat.

  Nervous anticipation grips my stomach. I am beyond excited. I don’t think it will take me too long until I climax, and I hope Kris is just as ready to explode. And then I am sinking down, my pussy grabbing and pulling him inside. His fingers reach behind me to find my anus, and the lubed-up digits slide in just as his cock pushes in. Immediately, I am overwhelmed with two experiences of pain, one extremely piercing and one slightly burning.

  I arch my back. “Ahh!” I cry, stiffening.

  Kris raises his head and retracts his fingers. “What the fuck?”

  He tries to pull me off him, but I refuse to go. I clamp my thighs tight and hold him in me. “Just…wait a moment.” I breathe in my nose and out my mouth.

  “You’re a virgin,” he says with a growl, but doesn’t try to retreat.

  “I was a virgin.”

  “Don’t give me semantics.”

  Instead of saying something, I rock my hips. It’s not much, but it’s enough to realize the pain has eased somewhat, at least tolerably so. And Kris makes a moaning-hissing noise that I take as a good sign, so I rock my hips again.

  “Fuck.” He groans and leans his forehead against mine. “You should have told me.”

  “I’m not the only virgin here,” I whisper. “Please, Kris.”

  He lets the air out of his lungs and then grabs my hips in his hands to move me. Back and forth, very tenderly and slowly, until my passageway eases from his monstrous cock seesawing its way into my body. And then suddenly, all pain disappears and the raw pl
easure from earlier breaks over me, consuming me. I lean over and bite his ear, and this jump-starts his hips to pump faster. In and out we hammer each other, and I’m not sure if it is he who is out of control or if it is me. His balls slap against my ass; his cock impales me faster and faster. I grip my pussy walls around him so tightly there is a sucking sound as he pulls in and out. One of his hands leaves my hip to trace a path upward, grabbing my nipple and twisting it. The pain of it shocks me, but only to underline the pleasure that has consumed me.

  “Kris,” I beg, though I don’t know what exactly I’m begging for. An end? More of this? Please don’t stop? There is a tremendous heat building in me that causes my legs to lock up as a wave crashes through my pussy. “Ah!” I scream and clamp my walls onto the horse-size cock stuffed inside me.

  “Fucking hell!” Kris groans. He pauses for a heartbeat and then grabs my hips to yank me off his cock, just as it erupts, missing me and spraying on the broken concrete.

  And then we collapse onto each other, both of us sweaty despite the coolness of the tunnel. It is several moments before either one of us can speak.

  “You should have told me,” he says very quietly.

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  Instead of answering, he squeezes me tight and kisses the top of my head. “Who are you?” he whispers in my ear.

  “I’m the girl you love.”

  “I don’t believe in love,” he says in a sad way, as though he wished it was a lie.

  “I think you don’t know what love is. At least, not real love.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long time. My tired brain just about caves to the exhaustion when I hear him say one last thing.

  “I wonder if you can teach me.”

  Chapter Six

  The ricochet of the bullet takes a moment to register. I stare at the hand holding the smoking weapon and blink because the hand has no body. I follow the path of where the barrel points. Hyde stares at me funny, his green eyes searching frantically, and I wonder if I’ve been shot. If I have, I don’t feel any pain, no weak muscles or anything wet and sticky oozing from a bullet hole. But then everything freezes; the world comes to a halt with an infinitesimal pause as I try to figure out what’s just happened. I look down at myself, to make sure nothing is wrong, but my eyes instead come to rest on Hyde’s chest.

  The wound is not on me.

  Blood gushes out with every beat of his heart, turning the dark shirt he wears bright and shiny. There are even chunks of skin gaping from the hole. I want to vomit but find myself slightly off-kilter, detached, like I’m at the bottom of a pond swimming to reach the surface.

  Then his knees buckle and he falls, arms gliding gracefully beside him to look like broken angel wings. He bounces once as his body slams onto the ground. Suddenly the world snaps back into motion as sound rushes into my head and I hear myself screaming. I can’t seem to stop screaming.

  “Evie!”

  The deep boom of my name shakes me from the dream. I am no longer draped across Kris’s thighs. Instead I am flat on my back, on the cold concrete floor staring into his dark eyes. I can see equal parts worry, confusion, and annoyance and have to wonder at that. It’s been a long time since I’ve annoyed anyone, and I don’t quite know what to make of it.

  But for now I file that away for a future conversation and push him off me. I sit up and take a few deep breaths before scrambling to my feet. Kris is looking at me like I’m about to combust at any moment.

  “We have to go get Hyde,” I say without preamble.

  He blinks. I can see that this isn’t what he expected me to say. Instantly, his body tenses as he waits for me to elaborate.

  “I saw a gun,” I say as I grab my sports bra and shirt and start dressing myself. “He gets shot. I don’t know the location. This dream isn’t quite like any I’ve had before. I’m standing next to him when it happens, but I’ve never seen the future like that.” I know I’m not explaining myself very well. I find my pants next to the little bench and yank them on. Next are my shoes. “Usually I see the future played out like I’m not there, and that’s how I know to fix it, but this time I’m right there and I don’t have time to stop it. Or I can’t stop it.”

  I shut up as I strap my gun holsters on, followed by the knife sheath I had specially designed for my arm. Beside me Kris takes the opportunity to do the same thing, only he has more weapons to hide in strategic areas. Huh, I’ll have to remember those places. I stomp away from him, back down the murky tunnel that leads back to the underground city. Kris, who must have dressed while I lay on the broken concrete slab screaming like an idiot, falls into step beside me. And this time I’m the one who feels a flash of annoyance because he let me lie on that cold ground. How long was I on it? If I get sick, I’m going to be so pissed!

  There isn’t a clue to what time it is, though by how everything is quiet, I’m guessing either really late or really early. We take the tunnel that will lead us back to the door, and I’m not surprised to see four men guarding it. They each have guns, and when Kris and I appear, two of them turn those weapons on us. I throw up my hands.

  “We’re leaving to find our comrade,” I tell them. Kris nudges me like this is a huge governmental secret, but who the fuck cares? I’ve learned that the way to get people to trust you is to be honest, because people like this, people who survive, they can tell when you’re lying. “We’ll be back.”

  The guards look at each other in confusion. I don’t want to give them time to call Shalana, because I don’t think she’ll allow us to leave, so I take matters into my own hand by marching up to the vault door. It’s bolted big-time from this side, with massive sliding steel rods. Now, as I get a good look at it, I can see that the door is actually made out of steel as well, and I briefly wonder if it once belonged on a bank vault. The two guards look at their partners, and I wave to hurry them up. It works, and the door opens silently. But as soon as we exit through it, it bangs shut with an ominous echo.

  On the surface it is quiet, eerily so. It is early, very early, morning, right when night caves to day. I walk to the street and then spin slowly, waiting for my spidey sense to kick in. Kris is behind me, watching and waiting. But I keep turning, and he keeps waiting, because I got nothing.

  “Evie?” he asks, and I can hear the impatience in his voice.

  I stop to face him. “I don’t know. Kris, I can’t feel him.”

  We stare at each other, and I almost feel the tears start to well up in my eyes when we hear the distinct noises of a fight. Kris’s head spins in the direction, and then he’s off, running, and I’m right behind him. He’s better at jumping over stuff, but I’m faster, so I’m able to keep up. The sounds grow louder, and we round a building just in time to see Hyde go down, the man who stands over him brandishing a long, two-prong stick of sorts. Kris gives a battle cry and charges the man, plowing into him like a tractor-trailer knocking over a bicycle. The man lands on his back with Kris on top punching the hell out of his face.

  “Stop!” I yell, running up to grab the forward momentum of Kris’s fist. “Kris! We have to help Hyde!”

  The name must have gotten through, because Kris blinks and shrugs me off to roll to his feet. In seconds we kneel by Hyde, looking him over.

  “He’s got a bruised jaw, but I don’t see any other wounds,” I remark.

  Kris grabs the odd-looking stick. “It’s some type of cattle prod,” he mutters, “or a homemade Taser of sorts.”

  I take a glance. The stick is long, cylindrical, with a rubber end for gripping and two metal spikes sticking out the other end. I put my ear to Hyde’s chest and hear a strong beat. “His heart is steady.”

  At that moment, his body jumps, and all his muscles contract. It lasts for only a second, but by the time he relaxes, Kris is standing and pulling him into a fireman’s carry stance. He thrusts the stick at me to hold.

  “Come on,” he says harshly and starts very slowly back the way we came from, the ad
ded weight of Hyde’s massive form making it difficult for Kris to walk quickly. But I see the determination in his face, the fierce resolution to get Hyde to safety, so I help him by navigating through the wreckage of the area.

  The sun is fully out by the time we get back to the building hiding the subway entrance, and Kris has major sweat pouring from his skin as we enter the coolness of the hallway. I pound on the door leading down to the underground city.

  “It’s Evie!” I yell. “With Kris and our partner Hyde!”

  The door swings open, and Shalana stands there with her hands on her hips. I know she wants to say something to us, probably a dressing down for taking advantage of her hideout, but when she sees the unconscious Hyde draped over Kris’s shoulder, she organizes her people to help out. We rush through the empty greeting room and into the city. Many people stand around wanting to help, but I can see in their faces they don’t know what to do, so I push them aside. A man steps in front of me.

  “I’m a doctor,” he says, and with those three little words, I could kiss him.

  “This way,” Shalana instructs us, and we follow her, mindless of where we actually walk. My eyes focus on Hyde’s body, waiting to see if it will seize up again from the electricity that touched him. We enter through a hut, and Kris lays Hyde down gently. I don’t even care whose bed he’s on. The doctor, a tall man, reed thin with wire-framed glasses, bends over him, stethoscope in hand.

  Kris and I wait by the door, Shalana stands off to my side, and she reaches up to grip my shoulder. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever been truly bite-my-nails nervous. Finally, after what seems to be hours but could only have been a matter of minutes, the doctor turns to us.

  “He’s going to be fine.”

  I let go of the breath I hadn’t realized I held. Shalana’s grip turns to a pat of good news, and I flash her a grateful smile.

  Kris holds out the rod. “He was hit with this.”

  The doctor takes it and looks it over. The weapon doesn’t come back on. “Electrical-voltage-type weapons work on the voluntary muscles of the body, those that affect walking or talking, and not the involuntary that controls breathing and the heart. There’s a small goose egg on his right temple, so for him to be unconscious, it might have been a combination of voltage and velocity.”