HeroRising

by Anna Alexander

  She placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Why do I have the feeling that the worst of your scars are on the inside? Let me in, Bale.”

  After another big shudder, he let go of her wrists. She kept their gazes locked as she pulled the cotton up and over his head. As the fabric fell to the floor, she scanned the massive area of his chest and stifled a chuckle. The man was insane to have such body issues. He had the type of physique that reminded her of the gladiators of old. Six-pack? The man had a case of muscle feeding into sculpted muscle. Was he scarred? Yes. A line here, a pucker there. There was a particularly nasty one dominating his right biceps that looked as if he had an enormous chunk of flesh cruelly hacked out of his arm, but even so, he was still a beautiful specimen of man.

  The rasp of his zipper sent shivers over her skin. Did he really think she would be offended if he asked her to suck his cock? Pul-eeze. She was ready to fall to the floor, claw at his jeans and beg for the opportunity to get up close and personal with what he was packing.

  Hands down, he had the biggest cock of any lover she’d had, and she was certain to ever have again. She never considered herself a cock snob before. After all, it wasn’t the size of the ship, but the size of the waves rocking her ocean that mattered. But after Bale, how could any man compete?

  She sank to her knees as she pulled his jeans down his legs and sighed like a schoolgirl gazing at her crush when his erection bobbed before her. Behind the flare of his crown, the stalk was narrow then grew thicker at the base. The memory of the way he filled her pussy so perfectly made her mouth water to taste the satin skin.

  She licked her lips and wrapped both hands around the shaft, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat echo down to her core.

  Bale stifled a groan and fisted his hands at his sides, which made her smile. So this was how to make him talk. After a few more strokes, she touched the tip of her tongue to the bit of flesh under the crown, loving the way his eyelids grew heavy as he held his breath, waiting for her next move. She didn’t keep him waiting long.

  She parted her lips and swallowed halfway down the shaft in one move. With the narrow tip, she was able to fit him comfortably into her mouth without fear of suffocating. Lightly sucking in her cheeks as she drew back, she reveled in his groan as she worked to take more of his length down her throat.

  “Liera, you undo me.” His hands dove into her hair, his fingers flexed, but he did nothing to control her movements, allowing her to take the lead.

  She smiled around his rod and made sure his cock shined with her saliva as she pulled back and forth. Under the shaft she rolled her tongue, flicking beneath the head with each draw. In seconds his cock went from firm to hot steel within her mouth.

  Bale was afraid to reveal his more depraved side, was he? So far, this was pretty tame in her book. What would he do if she were the one who pushed the envelope?

  Reaching between her thighs, she found the lips of her sex swollen and drenched. She swirled her fingers in the syrup then reached up to slide the wet tips across the dark hole of his anus. He gasped, his fingers tightening in her hair as his cock flexed against her tongue.

  “Witch,” he barked. “You push me too far.”

  Slowly she worked one finger into his ass, watching from beneath her lashes as sweat broke out across his flesh and his abdominal and pectoral muscles twitched. She moaned her encouragement around his throbbing shaft and sucked harder, rubbing his base with her other hand.

  The pupils in his eyes expanded then contracted and his lips pulled back over his teeth as he snarled her name. “I’m close, liera. Fucking close. Where do you want it, vixen?”

  The question was more like where didn’t she want him to come? If she could, she’d bottle his cum and use it like lotion, she was so turned-on by watching this big man wrestle with his control.

  “Ari. Choose,” he gasped in a tortured groan.

  The saltiness of the pre-cum slipping over her tongue was delicious, but since he was such a fan of her breasts, she wanted to reward him for sharing a small part of himself he was afraid to allow her to see.

  His fingers pulled on her hair and gave her the split second of warning to pull back and aim the head of his cock at her left nipple. As he shot jet after jet, she directed the milky fluid across her chest, her smile growing as he bellowed with his release. Wow. Who knew he was able to produce that much sound?

  As the last little bit of cum dribbled out of his shaft, she licked the slit clean then made a show out of rubbing the cum into her skin, making sure to pull and pluck at her nipples while never once dropping eye contact.

  The muscles of his thighs quivered and his knees wavered. The only bit of strength he displayed was in the intensity of his gaze and the rough command in his voice as he ordered her to climb onto the bed.

  “Spread your legs for me.” He fell to his knees beside the bed. “It’s my turn to feast.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice. She parted her thighs, showing him how wet and needy she had become while sucking his cock. “I ache, Bale.”

  “I’ll see to your need, liera. Always.”

  Fire burned in his black eyes as he bent and swiped his tongue from clit to anus. His tongue dipped into her cunt then followed with the thick press of his fingers as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard.

  “Yes,” she shouted and clutched his head to her pussy. Subtlety was not going to convince Bale that she wanted whatever he dished out. “That’s so good. More. More.”

  Her eyes crossed and her lungs burned as he rocketed her to the brink of madness. The calluses on his fingers stroked the neck of her womb, coaxing more of her cream to ease the way for a third digit to fill her to overflowing.

  Just a little more, she panted as if she’d been without water for days, just a little more. She hunched her hips, desperate for that tiny bit of pressure against her clit to push her over the edge.

  And then he was gone.

  “No!” she cried and opened her eyes.

  Bale climbed between her spread thighs. A flush of red painted his cheeks and those dark eyes glowed with a possessive fire. With a quick thrust, he seated his condom-covered cock into her sheath to the hilt. Before she could draw a breath, he lunged again, then again.

  Her legs fell open and she stretched her arms up over her head, luxuriating in the slide of his sweat-slick chest across her nipples and the grind of the base of his shaft against her needy clit.

  “Yes, Bale. I want it all.”

  At her words, his lips curled and his pace gained speed and power.

  With a shift of his hips, the crown of his cock stroked along all her nerve endings and lit her on fire. Tears gathered in her eyes, but it wasn’t from pain. No, the sight of him over her, taking her, was so beautiful, so bestial, the intensity was blinding.

  The punishing pace was exactly what she wanted. The reverence in his touch and gaze as he caressed her from breast to hip was unexpected. Not because he had led her to believe that once he loosened his restraint, he’d become a raving maniac, but because the touch unlocked the gate between lover and loved one.

  When her confidence in the men of the world had been at its lowest, Bale’s care for her in and out of bed gave her hope that there was someone out in the world to entrust with more than her body.

  She ran her fingernails through the dusting of hair on his chest and placed her hands against the hard muscles. The pounding behind his ribs was so fierce, she felt as if she held his heart in her palms.

  This was the new dream. She wanted to have his heart. She wanted to take this man from the shadows and bathe him in light. Dear heavens above, she wanted him to love her.

  The first wave crested and her fingers dug into his chest. In response, Bale released a stream of curses in a foreign language and intensified his thrusts, tossing her into the deep end of the abyss.

  “Bale,” she cried as shock waves radiated out from her core.

  “I feel you, Ari. I feel you. Gods,” he roared and
his eyes rolled back. Inside her rippling sheath his cock jerked in a way she didn’t think was humanly possible. “That’s it, liera. Give me your all.”

  Anything he may have said after that was lost to the roll of thunder in her head. As her pussy suckled on his shaft, his hips undulated, drawing out the last of their orgasm in a slow yet electrifying descent.

  Damn it, she didn’t want this feeling to end. All too soon she was going to have to open her eyes and face the fact that she was falling for a man who carried secrets.

  She’d have to be an idiot not to recognize the signs. He was a lone wolf. A wounded warrior. To trust was not in his nature. In fact, she believed he’d rather cut off his dominant hand than trust another with anything.

  Tonight he may have trusted her with his desire, but that was sex. Matters of the heart were much more complicated and messy. The lead weight settling in her gut warned her that to continue the journey from lust and affection to love would be difficult and paved with many hurdles. What would it take for Bale to trust her with his heart?

  The price, she feared, would be more than she could pay.

  * * * * *

  “Son of a bitch. You have got to be kidding me.” Marco wadded the front page of the newspaper into a ball and tossed it into a nearby waste bin.

  Commander Asswipe withdrew another copy of the paper from behind his back and slapped it on top of his desk. His pudgy fingers framed the headline, Who Is the Claymore? Underneath the big block print was a grainy photo taken from the video footage from the botched jewelry heist.

  A nickname. The press had gone and given the motherfucker a goddamn nickname. What was next, a Bat-signal? Fuck.

  “I thought you had this contained, DeWinter.”

  Marco clenched his fists to refrain from slapping the mustache off his boss’s face. On the other side of the glass wall thirty faces peeked around cubicles or people stood out in the open to watch their interaction as if they were the latest YouTube sensation. He was not going to give them more of a show.

  “It is contained,” he gritted out from between clenched teeth. “At least within my team. Theft also had access to those pictures, remember? You might want to ask one of them if they’ve had an info leak.”

  “I need this guy caught yesterday.” Asante stepped from behind his desk and came to a stop next to Marco’s chair. “I have the chief and the mayor breathing fire over this. We need the people of this city to have faith in the police force. Not some bozo running around like a fucking superhero. I don’t want copycats coming out of the woodwork.”

  “Believe me. I want this case closed more than you do. I’ve got a good lead and I’d be out there right now checking on it, if you hadn’t pulled me in here to show me this comic strip. Are we done now?”

  “Watch it, DeWinter.” Asante’s eyes narrowed and he pulled his shoulders back, as if that would make his five-foot-nothing height appear more intimidating. “You’ve been a thorn in my ass for the last three years. Get your shit together or I’ll have you rounding up stray poodles with animal control, you hear me?”

  “Yep. So will the union. May I be dismissed? Sir?”

  Asante stared him down. The corner of his moustache twitched as he restrained his sneer. The feeling was entirely mutual. A minute later he jerked his head toward the door and Marco was out of there as if his ass were on fire.

  What a shitty, shitty morning.

  Not only was the press making this Claymore fucker out to be the city’s savior, just before he was called into that fantastic meeting, one of his informants had sent word that Smithwick was making a move into human trafficking. That was where he needed to be, fighting real crime, not chasing after a hooded freak.

  “Hey, DeWinter.” One of the goons from homicide stepped out from his cubicle and waved around a letter opener. “Do you need a sparring partner? Looks like you may need lots of practice if you want to compete with a sword that big.”

  “My wife’s a seamstress,” another shouted from across the room. “I can ask her to make you a costume. How ’bout something with a cape?”

  “He needs a name too! How about Captain Underpants?”

  “That’s a kid’s book, you idiot.”

  “Oh. No wonder it sounded familiar.”

  Marco kept his gaze forward while he marched back to his desk and shoved two sticks of gum into his mouth. At the rate he was going, he was probably wearing out the ligaments in his jaw.

  “Hey, boss.” Coulter appeared from around the partition and dropped onto an empty seat.

  “Thank the fuckin’ Lord. Tell me good news.”

  “I checked into Briggs, like you asked.” He leaned forward to murmur with a knowing grin. “Have you seen the size of her husband’s family?”

  “No. How would I? I’ve never met the man.”

  Coulter’s smile widened. “Don’t you know what family she married in to?”

  “No. That’s why I had you dig up dirt. If I did it, she’d find out and castrate me. Obviously you have something good, otherwise you wouldn’t be a shit about it now. Spill it.”

  “All right. Calm down. Man. Can you, like, start smoking or drinking or something? You need to lighten up.”

  “No.” He double-clicked a ballpoint pen as if he were flicking open a switchblade.

  Coulter eyed the potential weapon and sighed. “Fine. Anyway, Briggs’ husband Kristos is a river guide and some of his clients have posted pictures of their excursions with him online. The man is a giant.”

  He laid printouts of vacation photos across the desk.

  Shit. Marco frowned as he looked at the pictures of groups of women surrounding a man who stood at least a foot and a half taller with muscles stacked on muscles. No wonder Briggs fell in love with the guy. He was a freakin’ Adonis. Even he felt a little turned-on staring at photo after photo.

  “Wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He pulled out two photos and laid them side by side. In most of the photos Brett’s hunk of a husband sported thick, luxurious black hair. The bastard. Then all of a sudden he turned into Fabio.

  “He bleached his hair? Why?”

  “This one,” Coulter pointed to a dark-haired shot where Mr. America was fighting rapids and looking like an action hero, “was taken a few years ago. And this one is more recent.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Briggs married a guy who colors his hair? The world is coming to an end.”

  The younger man’s stifled chuckle turned into a snort. “Moving on. His cousin, who happens to be a cop on Brett’s force, was married a few months ago to a woman named Fiona Corrione. Sound familiar?”

  Fuck yeah. “She’s the woman Smithwick kidnapped. She was also the Chameleon’s girlfriend.”

  “That’s right.” Coulter flashed a dazzling smile and pulled another sheet of paper from the file folder on his lap. “There was a lovely announcement about the wedding in the local paper.”

  The last time Marco had seen Fiona Corrione she lay pale, almost lifeless on a hospital bed where the worn, white bed sheets held more color than her flesh. In the photo Coulter handed him, she was breathtaking with flowers in her hair and a smile so filled with happiness, he couldn’t keep his own lips from twitching, ready to share in her joy.

  He had always felt horrible that the girl had gotten caught in the dangerous crosshairs in the war with Smithwick. Questioning her about the kidnapping had only strengthened his resolve to see the man behind bars. To see her so happy lightened his heart.

  But the sight of her groom brought his frown back. Good Lord. Another good-looking giant. “I’m starting to hate this family.”

  “And there’s a brother.”

  “Let me guess. He’s another gigantic son of a bitch too.”

  “Yep. And he’s local.”

  “Reeeally.” Now they were getting somewhere.

  “Lucian Kilsgaard married the owner of Tutala. Ever eaten there?”

  “Of course, because I have that much disposable income. What’da ya think?” />
  “She also owns The Cavern.”

  His brows rose. “The sex club? No shit.”

  Coulter straightened in his seat. “It’s a nightclub that caters to those with an open mind.”

  “Been there, have you?”

  “Once. Maybe twice.” He shrugged.

  “Ah-hmm. What have I told you about playing where you work?”

  “Hey, the city is where it’s all happening. You can’t get that kind of action out in the sticks.”

  Marco shook his head and tapped at the photos. “I’d bet my left nut the cousin is the Chameleon. And I’m positive Briggs is close to our guy.”

  “You mean the Claymore.”

  “God.” He winced. “Not you too.”

  “Me? No way. I think it’s a stupid name. Anyone can tell he carries a long sword.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “I used to date a girl who studied medieval history.”

  “Sounds kinky.” He was learning way too much about his lieutenant.

  “It was, kinda.”

  “Right. Now, I don’t think The Hood is Brett’s husband. She just had a baby, and I don’t think he’d risk pissing off a new mother who can shoot a target two hundred feet away by leaving her to travel all the way to the city to bust some heads. My hunch, it’s the brother.”

  Coulter rubbed his hands together. “I’m thinking a field trip is on the horizon.”

  “For me.” He stood and gathered a pair of night-vision goggles and other surveillance supplies from the cabinet behind his desk. “This will be a solo trip.”

  “Ah, come on. Between the two of us, I’ve had the most experience inside the club. You need me.”

  “You can fill me in on the details as I stake out the joint before they open.”

  Coulter trailed behind like a little brother as Marco headed for the elevator. “You seriously can’t think of leaving me behind.”

  “Where did you meet that history chick?”

  “At The Cavern,” he mumbled.

  “Case closed.”

  Chapter Eight