by J. D. Tyler
He laughed. God, she was beautiful, especially when she was annoyed. How could he ever have believed she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen? “No. Okay, maybe,” he admitted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “At ease, officer. I try to take people at face value when I meet them, that’s all. You struck me as being a very earthy and honest, no-frills lady. I liked that.”
“But you don’t like this?”
“Of course I do, honey. I’m a guy.” Well, damn, that didn’t sound like much of a compliment. He sucked at this. “But on you it looks extra hot. Smokin’.” There. Better.
“Then I guess you don’t need that paper to find the fantasy you were searching for.”
Lips turned up in a catlike smile, she closed the distance between them and reached up, running a nail down the side of his face. Down his neck, and his chest. His cock pulsed painfully behind his zipper as he stared at her, asking himself if he’d won the lottery or been plunged into hell.
“I can’t.” Taking her wrist in a gentle grip, he removed her hand.
“Why not?”
“For one, you’re the sister of my good friend, who will kick my ass when he gets better and finds out I took advantage of her.”
“Funny, I don’t see it that way. Maybe I’m taking advantage of you.” She pressed her front to his, her warmth, her ocean-and-flowers scent making him light-headed.
“Rowan, we just met.” The argument sounded weak. His wolf agreed.
“You wouldn’t have said that was a problem with any of those women,” she said, gesturing to the news dispenser.
“You’re not like them.” No, she’s worth one hundred of them. More.
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
She appeared pleased by this. “Good. Just because it’s been way too long and I have a need to scratch an itch with one man in particular doesn’t make me a slut. Well, much.” Her free hand wormed underneath the edge of his T-shirt, smoothed over his flat belly. Crept lower, to the button of his jeans.
Scratch an itch? Why didn’t he like the sound of that? In the past, that’s exactly the term he would’ve used, but with Rowan… it didn’t seem like the right description. He did like one part of what she’d said, though.
“You’ve been thinking of being with me?” Please say yes.
“Every minute of going on two days, since we rescued you guys.” Her intense gaze held him immobile. “I’m drawn to you and I don’t understand it.”
“Sexually?”
“Yes. But it feels like more, too. Do we have to analyze it here and now?”
“God, no! This is our dream, and we can do what we want.”
“Anything?”
“Tell me want you want.”
“You.”
She brought her mouth to his, and Jesus, her lips were soft. Kissable. One of her arms slid around his neck while the other hand pressed to his crotch. Rubbed the hard rod straining to get free. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, desperate for a taste. So good, better than he’d hoped. Their tongues tangled, bodies ground together, fanning the flames of desire.
Breaking the kiss, she panted, gripping his shirt in one fist. “You want to hear my fantasy?”
“Like you can’t believe.”
“I want you to take me in there,” she said, pointing at the entrance to the Golden Nugget. “And I want you to fuck me right on top of a blackjack table.”
Aric almost choked. “Holy shit! You’re not serious. Are you?”
“Why not? It’s only a dream.”
That was a suggestion he wasn’t about to refuse. Grabbing her hand, he dragged her toward the casino as she laughed joyously in a low, husky voice. The sound sent a thrill down his spine, so sexy he almost came in his jeans. Jogging, he pulled her down an aisle of slot machines, looking for the tables. Any table would be fine for him, but Rowan wanted a blackjack table and she’d have it if he had to search forever.
In a semisecluded alcove off the main gaming room were some tables. An unoccupied blackjack table was there waiting, as if he’d wished it into existence. Weird. But not as strange as the other gamblers’ being faceless, sort of blurry, like his brain couldn’t conjure individual features, so they were simply avatars. He pulled Rowan up to the table and positioned her, back against the edge.
“Stay just like that. I’m going to enjoy peeling off every inch of that getup.”
“What if I want to undress you?”
“You’ll get your turn.” He winked. “In the next dream.”
“You’re sure there’ll be a next one?”
“A guy can hope.”
Taking the hem of her shirt, he pulled the material over her head and tossed it away. Her full breasts were almost spilling over a lacy black bra, and he resisted the urge to lick his lips. Instead he flicked the front clasp and parted the cups, revealing a gorgeous pair of breasts tipped by dusky nipples that perked under his attention. Especially when he rolled them between his fingers, plucking them to firm peaks.
Bracing her hands on the table’s edge, she arched her back with a moan of pleasure. Moving between her spread thighs, he leaned into her, cupping one pretty globe and flicking the nipple with his tongue. The sweet flavor of her skin burst on his taste buds, pure delight—to him and his wolf. The beast in him growled, wanting more. All she would give.
Kneeling, he grasped the waistband of her leathers and paused, looking up to be sure this was truly all right. If not, he’d stop. He’d be left with a serious case of blue balls, but he would never force a woman. The wicked twinkle in her eyes and a slight nod was all the green light he needed.
Unbuttoning and unzipping the pants, he began to peel them down, half expecting to see a scrap of lacy black undies to match the bra. A neat thatch of dark curls greeted him instead, and lust almost sent him over. His blood ran hot, the fire within stoked to boiling.
“Figured they’d only get in the way,” she said in a husky voice, as though reading his mind.
A witty reply lodged in his throat as he uncovered long, toned thighs and those muscular buttocks. By the time he pulled off her boots and finished with the pants, he was damned near salivating. Rowan was more than perfection.
“You’re a goddess.”
She laid a hand on top of his head as he urged her legs to a wider stance. The scent of her sex combined with her unique ocean fragrance was ambrosia, enough to drive him wild. Gently, he parted her folds and tasted the little clit. She squirmed, tightened her grip on his head, encouraging him to take more.
Glad to oblige, he laved her slit, giving her as much pleasure as he knew how, getting her nice and wet. Then he tongue-fucked the slick channel, playing with the nub of her clit at the same time, until she yanked on his hair.
“Please! I need you in me.”
Pushing to his feet, he wiped his mouth and grinned. “Anything the lady wants.”
“I want to not feel like a lady right now,” she retorted, beckoning him with a finger.
“I think I can deliver.” At last he freed his erection, shoving his jeans down his hips. “Up on the table you go, on your back.”
He helped her up, and after she was lying down, he hooked his arms under her knees and pulled her forward, until her bottom was off the edge and being supported by him. Knees shaking with anticipation, he draped her legs over his shoulders, lifting her rear. The head of his leaking cock was pointed at the dewy mound he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside.
Inching in slowly, his gasp joined hers. If any woman had felt so fine hugging his cock, he couldn’t remember it. Her velvet heat encased him like a glove made for him. He sank into her slowly, watching in fascination as his length disappeared. When he was fully seated he basked in the sensation, until she bucked her hips and arched her back.
“Oh, God. Fuck me, Aric,” she demanded. “Fuck me like you mean it!”
That’s all it took to break his control. Withdrawing slowly, he then slammed home, shaking the table and
causing his lover to cry out in bliss. He pulled out faster, slammed in. Out and in, and soon he was plunging into her pussy like a piston, reaching the point of no return faster than he wanted.
But it was good. So fucking good, he couldn’t stop the come that shot from his balls as he shouted, filling her up. Spasming again and again, riding the waves of her climax as well as his own. Her head tossed from side to side, fingernails digging into the green surface of the blackjack table. When the last of the waves subsided and she went limp, he carefully withdrew and offered her a hand to sit up.
“You were amazing,” he praised, kissing her lips.
“Not too shabby yourself.” She flicked his bottom lip with her tongue. “Too bad it wasn’t real.”
Her words sent an unexpected blade into his heart. “What?”
“Dream,” she reminded him. “Not real.”
“Sure felt real to me.” He didn’t miss the bereft note in his voice, but hoped she hadn’t noticed.
Turning away, he saw that the rest of the casino had vanished. Blinking, he spun back to Rowan—but she wasn’t there anymore, either. Shit!
“Rowan? Hey!”
Confused, he started to run… and stepped off into empty air.
Fell.
And jolted awake, safe in his own bed. Pulse thrumming in his throat, he glanced around, seeing that nothing had changed. His bedroom. His things.
“God, it did seem real.”
His body certainly thought it was, too. A glance at his lap and the sheet confirmed they were drenched in come, his erection still at half-mast. Some dream. Only, what if it wasn’t?
Running a hand down his sweaty face, he became aware of how very hot it was in the room. Or maybe the room was fine and he was the one overheated, after the mind-blowing encounter he’d just had. Whichever, the temperature was unbearable, so he got up and ran a cold shower.
He washed, and stood under the spray until he no longer felt like he was about to spontaneously combust, then got out and dried off. Better. But was his face still a little warm? He couldn’t tell, and was too tired to think about the dream or anything else right now. But he had to change the sheets.
Stumbling to the bed, he stripped off the dirty bedding, balled it up, and tossed it into a corner. He stared at the mattress, bare except for the fitted pad, and decided he just couldn’t be bothered to deal with making it up. Later.
He took only a couple of seconds to yank on a clean pair of boxers and flopped across the bed.
This time, when he slept, it was deep and dark.
And dreamless.
Seven
Rowan awoke from her nap gradually, her body still humming from the awesome dream she’d had, with Aric in the starring role.
Tentatively, she touched between her legs and even found herself moist with her own come. When in the hell had she ever had such a vivid dream of sex with a man? Never. Hadn’t known it was possible, not to that degree of detail.
She could still smell him on her skin, musky and male. She envisioned exactly how he’d pierced her with those striking green eyes as he’d eaten her out, and the satisfaction on his face as he’d fucked her into next week, that glorious auburn hair falling over his chest and the swirling tattoo.
As she’d told him, too bad it wasn’t real.
Surely it wasn’t. She was no Dreamwalker, at least not one of much talent if she couldn’t find her brother and reach out to him in his mental prison. If she couldn’t help anyone, what good was a gift? Better to stick with what she knew and could see. Guns and bullets, flesh and blood. And yes, monsters of all kinds. What was tangible could be dealt with.
Which was why she was so lost in regard to Micah.
She’d left him alone too long. It wasn’t easy to get moving, since the nap hadn’t really been restful and her head still hurt some. If he was calm and his vitals were good, she might turn in early tonight and get a fresh start in the morning.
Cleaning up quickly, she decided to wear the same jeans she’d had on, and a different shirt. Ready, she slipped into the hallway and became aware of some sort of commotion at the end. Already headed that way, she made out a small group of people standing outside a door. Dr. Mallory was knocking, and raising her voice for whoever was inside to answer it. She didn’t sound happy.
Rowan’s footsteps slowed as she approached. Nick stood to the left of the doctor, Jax on the right. Mallory waved a hand at Nick in agitation.
“Use your pass code. I need in there to see if that stubborn idiot has set his recovery back by leaving the infirmary too soon.”
“Micah left?” Rowan blurted, alarmed. “How?”
The doctor glanced at her, shaking her head. “Not your brother. Aric.”
“Oh.” Instead of relief, a sense of fear invaded, shaking her to the core. Aric being in trouble was no more acceptable than if it had been Micah. Helplessly, she watched as Nick blocked the keypad with his body and punched in the code. Then the group streamed inside, calling for their friend.
After hesitating, Rowan trailed them. Nobody had ordered her to stay out, and Aric was already becoming a friend, of sorts. She hoped he would be, anyway, and she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him.
Rowan recognized the layout and guessed all the apartments must be pretty much the same. They hurried through the living room and down the short hallway to his bedroom. She heard Nick and Jax calling their friend’s name, and then cursing just as she stepped inside. Oddly, Aric was lying on the bare mattress, curled on his side, wearing only a pair of boxers.
Nick was kneeling on the bed, shaking Aric’s shoulder. “Aric, wake up! Shit, what’s wrong with him?”
“Let me take his pulse,” the doctor said briskly. “Move.”
Both men wasted no time getting out of her way, though they paced anxiously. Rowan moved closer, hand over her mouth as Mallory dropped his wrist, shaking her head.
“It’s too fast, and he’s hotter than hell.” Removing a white strip from her pocket, she peeled off the back and stuck it to his forehead. Within moments she got a reading and removed the strip as Aric remained unaware. “One-oh-six.”
“That’s impossible,” she breathed.
Mallory answered. “Not for Aric. Remember, he’s not human, and he’s a Firestarter on top of that. His normal temp is around one-oh-two, but this is too high. He needs to wake up.”
Firestarter? God. “What’s wrong with him?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” She fixed Rowan with a strange look, then turned back to her patient.
That was twice now with the look. What was up with that woman?
“Nothin’ wrong with me,” Aric muttered, opening his eyes to frown at the group. “Can’t a man get some sleep? Think I’ve earned it, for fuck’s sake.”
“We’re worried about you, asshole.” Jax crossed his arms over his chest.
“Really?” Aric’s voice dripped with nasty sarcasm as he sat up and came fully awake, shoving hair from his face. “See, now I’ve an entirely different take on how much you’re worried about whether I’m dead or alive. My viewpoint was from the inside of a helicopter as it took off and I was carried away to be tortured for weeks!”
Jax’s face paled and he looked like he’d been punched. “You don’t know how sorry I am about that,” he rasped. “But I only had one chance to save my mate, and I took it. You’re both alive, and—”
“But my survival wasn’t a certainty, was it?” Aric asked in a deceptively quiet voice. Like he was a time bomb about to blow. “I was left to be picked apart by vultures, especially Beryl, the bitch. She always—” The man cut himself off and clamped his lips shut, stark torment replacing the anger of seconds ago.
The cop in Rowan went on alert, and she wondered what he’d been about to say. What he might be hiding about the “bitch” in question.
Nick, too, studied him for a few tense moments, but didn’t pursue the subject of Aric’s torture or the woman responsible. “We came for you as
soon as we had a location. You had to know we would.”
“But whether I’d be alive—did you know for sure?”
“I felt you would be, yes.”
“What a comfort.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jax told him in anguish.
Rowan’s chest hurt. Friends who were as close as brothers shouldn’t be tearing one another apart over terrible events that neither would likely do differently if given a second chance. Aric was hurting, but not for a second did she believe he would’ve sacrificed Jaxon’s mate to save himself. As for Jax and the others, she’d made some tough decisions herself, and no doubt Luis Garcia’s survivors blamed her for making the only one she could at the time.
“Thought I was getting a handle on this.” Aric gave a bitter chuckle. “Guess that was before I was put to the test, huh?”
“Aric—”
“Don’t concern yourself. I’ll get over it. So if you’d all kindly show yourselves out, I’d appreciate it.”
The doctor was having none of that. “No can do. You were so lethargic we had trouble waking you and your temp is one-oh-six, which is a bit high even considering your specialized system. You’re coming back with me for a more thorough checkup, and that’s nonnegotiable.”
“I don’t need—”
“You’re not the physician. I am,” she said sternly. “You can come peacefully or I can call in reinforcements, but you’re coming.”
Her ultimatum hung in the air, Aric trying hard to glare her down. He didn’t have a prayer. Rowan thought the doc would make an excellent police lieutenant or captain—one icy stare and most of the guys’ balls would freeze and fall off.
“Fine, whatever,” the angry redhead snapped, bouncing off the bed. His small show of defiance was ruined, however, when his legs wobbled and Nick grabbed his arm to steady him. Cheeks flushing, Aric shook off the help and crossed the room, yanked open the door to his walk-in closet and disappeared inside.
Nick blew out a breath and massaged his temples. “That went well.”
“That boy is his own worst enemy,” Dr. Mallory observed.
“This boy is thirty-five years old and has the hearing of a dog,” Aric called from the closet. “Oh, wait—I am a dog. Shit.” A humorless chuckle floated from inside.
