Reflex

by Madelynne Ellis

  Alle held onto him, refusing to let go, until his legs buckled beneath him and gravity imposed its will. He sat with a thud.

  “Spook?”

  The bruising around his eyes and throat suddenly seemed much more livid.

  “I…” He gulped. “Fuck!”

  “Please don’t say you regret that,” she mouthed.

  He stared at her with glassy eyes, mouth open, each breath more jagged and noticeable than the last. Alle snatched a handful of tissues from a box on the table and cleaned herself up. Spook pulled himself onto his feet as she shimmied back into her dress.

  “Please don’t run,” she begged.

  Spook closed his eyes. Afraid, she watched his throat ripple as he swallowed. Then, slowly, slowly, he shook his head. “Hold me,” he managed to choke out, before collapsing onto the sofa.

  Hold him. That was like music to her ears. Apparently, for once he wasn’t going to tear off and leave her reeling. Although, maybe that would be the case in a moment or three. Just in case, she opted for straddling his lap as the best position to cuddle him. “Spook, you know that was amazing.” She pulled his head down to rest upon her shoulder.

  “It’s okay. I’m here, Spook. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not hurt. You don’t need to be afraid.”

  His heart was galloping. She could feel the bang, bang of it where their torsos were pressed together. “I wanted to fuck your throat.” Guilt riddled his voice, made him sound hoarse.

  “I know. I wanted you to, too. I’ll practice. There are probably tutorials on how to do it, right?” She gave a weak laugh, and was rewarded with a faint smile in return.

  “Xane knows,” he said, which for some reason made her laugh. Maybe it was the notion of Black Halo’s lead singer giving her sex tips that just rubbed her in a funny way. “Isn’t that bad for his throat? I mean with him being a singer?”

  “Dunno. Probably,” he replied. “I don’t know if he and Luthor…” He shook his head. “It’s pretty extreme.” Teeth worrying the cut in his lips, he met her gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you, Alle, but at the same time, I very much do. I guess that probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “Spook, it makes perfect sense.” She found his hand and clasped it, folding her fingers over the top of his. “I trust you. You’ve never given me any cause to think that’s insane. You stopped the moment I needed you to. And you’ve never forced me to do anything I didn’t want. Nor will you. Is that what you’re afraid of? Why you try to hold yourself in check? Did something happen in the pas—”

  He covered her mouth.

  Please, his blue eyes pleaded. Not now. Don’t push me anymore tonight. I’ve given as much as I can.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject. “Should we see if we can find somewhere that’s still open? Failing that, I guess there’s room service at the hotel.” Also deliberately, she avoided specifying whose hotel.

  “If we’re getting food, we ought to see if the others would like to join us.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “I can handle that, if you can handle Ronnie tagging along too. It would be pretty rude to abandon him.”

  Did he scowl? She was sure he hadn’t meant her to see it.

  “He’s a good guy, Spook.”

  “I never said otherwise.”

  She shimmied off his lap and stood with her hand outstretched towards him. Spook accepted, though he took a moment to clean up. “Okay, let’s go meet England’s Arse.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “Captain Bubble Butt. Admiral Rear End.”

  “You’re being mean. He’s just a sweet kid.”

  Ronnie was only a few years her junior, same as her brother Flynn, but his outlook seemed far younger than hers, or maybe it was his whole exuberant puppy dog zest for life. “Also, I’d rather you didn’t point out to him that I spent a significant portion of our time in the studio together staring at his backside. It’s hardly professional, and it’ll only fan his ego.”

  Spook zipped his lips. “Unless I catch you staring. Then I might have something to say about it.”

  “No ogling men’s butts. Check.” She gave him a salute. “Anything else I’m to refrain from?”

  He took hold of her hand in his. “Somehow I don’t think insisting on you not being knock ‘em dead sexy will work.”

  She raised their clasped hand and kissed his fingers. “Let’s go and eat.”

  -18-

  It was pushing 2AM by the time they wound up in Spook’s hotel room. 3AM once they’d sipped drinks and talked over the meal and the one-upmanship that had sprung into being between Ronnie and Rock Giant. They’d left them both still in the hotel bar cruising for fun, and as likely to crash and burn and wind up drunk and entwined on the bed together as awash in female flesh.

  Eating, being around the band, and doing normal things relaxed the uneasy tension that existed between her and Spook. They’d sat together and apart. Talked as one, and held entirely independent conversations, proving to themselves that it wasn’t necessary to sit in one another’s pockets. Spook remained a curious dichotomy. For a while he’d held her hand under the table, and it had been his decision to invite her back to his room, but then he’d jolt in response to an idle caress or get twitchy if he caught her looking at him a certain way.

  “Are you sure you want me to stay over?” she asked while he was in the process of pulling bits of clothing from a hold-all.

  “Sure? No. But I’m trying it on for size. Here, this should fit.” He passed her a faded to grey Black Halo T-shirt with a series of pinprick holes in the front where the fabric had probably snagged on his belt buckle.

  “Thanks.” She headed into the bathroom to change. By the time she returned, Spook had changed into a pair of low slung lounge pants that hugged his hips and made her want to lean over and lick the lines of his Adonis belt.

  “Rules?” she asked when he drew back the covers.

  “Sleep.”

  “That’s it?”

  He sighed, and it turned into a yawn.

  “So, I know naughtiness and shenanigans are out, but how do we stand on snuggling? Do we need to build a wall of pillows down the middle of the bed?”

  “No walls necessary. We’ll keep our hands to ourselves.” He kissed her goodnight on the brow, before rolling onto his side, legs tucked up, arms around the pillow, so that she was presented with the wall of his naked back.

  Still, she was in his bed. That was progress.

  Alle stared at the wings of his shoulder blades, tracing with invisible fingers the lines of his tattoos. In the moonlight, they seemed watchful and alive— Hugin and Munin observing her with unblinking eyes. They’d probably peck her to death if she dared reach out. Instead, she found herself mirroring his posture. Inches apart, she nevertheless folded herself to his form.

  “Goodnight, Spook.” She’d been wishing him the same thing every night since the last one they’d spent together. Tonight, at least, she got a mumbled reply.

  -19-

  4:36AM. Spook was adrift in a sea of memory. Shaking. Cold sweat lathered across his skin. Every detail as fresh as the moment in which it had existed. The swirl of pollen and aphids in the air, the coolness of the breeze whispering through leaves. The familiar crackle and crunch of the leaf litter. Earth and woody fragrances entwined with those of arousal. She was bent over the trunk of a tree that had fallen the previous autumn. Her floaty skirt sat tucked around her waist. The floral print panties she detested hugged her ankles.

  “Please.” Bright hyacinth-blue eyes already red-ringed pleaded with him on a level her words couldn’t reach. They zapped into some centre in his brain that was linked to different pathways. Both her cheeks were tear-stained, her arse tanned sunburn red, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

  The switch was whippy. It whistled when it rent the air and always struck with a percussive clap.

  “Please.”

  “I’ve hurt you enough
.”

  Her hair rustled as it slid across her clothing. “Please, Jan.”

  She always needed more, and he was nothing if not a giver.

  I’m not this person anymore.

  He tried to tear himself free of the anchor holding him in the forest, but no matter which way he turned, he always wound up back in the same place. Her cheeks criss-crossed by his handiwork and the pink lips of her pussy shiny with dew. Sometimes her eyes were wide, beseeching. Others, they’d be glassy. Her soul sunken into a trance.

  Then he’d be sitting there alone, leaves in his hair, and rends in his clothing, staring in frozen bewilderment at the same patch of silvered bark worn smooth, polished so, by the continual rub of her clothing.

  He tasted blood in his mouth. The stench of forest mulch wouldn’t leave his nose. That same dirt sat embedded beneath what remained of his fingernails.

  You fucking beast.

  You filthy piece of shit.

  The gun. The bite of the wire digging into his wrists. Was it him screaming? He could never be sure.

  Then came the nausea, and pain so intense it swallowed sound.

  Spook opened his eyes, but the darkness of unfamiliar surroundings remained suffocating. Disorientated, he stayed curled into a comma. Hot breath hit the back of his neck.

  Scream, bastard. I want to hear exactly how much it hurts.

  I’m going to tear you open.

  Scream.

  Louder.

  Fucking scream.

  Sounds were impossible. He couldn’t drag enough air into his lungs. Every breath shot fireworks across his ribs. His heart pounded out an increasingly erratic rhythm.

  Something hot and silky touched him.

  “No!”

  A knife, long and sharp, spun before him like a coin.

  “No.”

  He pushed. Shoved it away, even though the blade sliced his fingers open.

  “Breathe.

  “You’re scaring me. Please breathe.”

  Falling. Being sucked down.

  The thump reverberated through his bones as he landed.

  “What? Where?”

  Eyes wide, he blinked when sunshine hit his retinas. The plastic smell of hotel carpet wafted into his nostrils, while a hot sleepy body groaned beneath him. Allegra?

  “Ow!” she complained pushing at his shoulders.

  Yes, ow. Reciprocal pain lanced through his knees and skull. They’d rolled off the side of the bed. Him on top. Her body having cushioned his fall. The bed looked like something had tried to devour it.

  Frantically, he scrambled backwards so that he was no longer squashing her.

  Alle propped herself up, awkwardly, a second or two later. She briefly rubbed her head, her attention diverting immediately to her forearms, where the impression of his fingers ringed her wrists.

  “Oh my God, Alle. Shit. I’m sorry.” He edged away rather than toward her. What had he done? He wasn’t safe to be around. Last night he’d assaulted Xane in his sleep, now he’d done hell knows what to her. His heart started that erratic tattoo again. Breath stalling in his chest. Nevertheless, he used the desk for leverage to get onto his feet.

  “I’m all right, Spook.”

  Was she? He paced around the foot of the bed, across to the door and back. Allegra remained in the same position when he returned. “I’ll get some ice.”

  “You don’t need to. I’m fine. What time is it?”

  The alarm clock was on the other side of her, and turned away from him so that he couldn’t read the face. His phone wasn’t to hand either. “Morning.”

  “Figured that, Captain Obvious. Time?”

  He shook his head, unknowing.

  Alle clawed her way onto her knees, and hence onto the bed, inadvertently flashing him most of her arse and a glimpse of her naked pussy in the process. Never mind Captain Super Buns, she had a peachy perfect derriére, perfectly rounded, and with two unbelievably sexy creases where it met the top of her legs. Nothing short of utter perfection.

  So, yeah, his mental image had projected a pink blush and some criss-crossed stripes across those curves, but the basic shape was like two perfect teardrops.

  “You’re not by any chance entertaining pervy thoughts are you, Mr Mortensen?”

  “Nope. No.” He vigorously shook his head. The spider silk strands of his dream still clung to the corners of his mind threatening to sink him into paralysis.

  Alle peeped at him over her shoulder, her hair a wild halo around her head. Her neat white teeth dug into her lower lip. “Liar.” She tugged the bottom of the T-shirt down, before rearranging herself on the bed. One sleepy yawn later, she was resting against the headboard, eyes closed, and her breathing softening back into sleep.

  Spook wedged himself into the corner of the sofa facing her, and pulled a cushion into his lap. It almost hurt to look at her. No one ought to look that kitten-like, that cutely desirable. But that was who she was – Allegra Hutton, strong, curvy, independent, challenging, and as of this moment, preposterously sweet. She ought to be raging at him for what he’d just done. He’d had her in a death grip, and rolled her right out of bed.

  “You’re definitely a bit odd.” Her sleepy, sing-song voice grounded his frantically racing thoughts. “I can’t believe you’d rather hump a cushion than me. I mean, seriously?”

  “I’m not humping a cushion.”

  “Right, it’s a barricade. In case I decide to pounce on you? Only I’m too whacked to do anything so energetic.” As far as he could tell, her eyelids were still closed, and she seemed twice as likely to stick her thumb in her mouth as she was to leap on him. “You don’t half moan and groan in your sleep. And talk.” She opened one eye. “Someone was having a good time. Clue, it wasn’t me.”

  Had he been? He didn’t precisely recall. Perhaps to begin with, until the shadows had strangled all the joy from it.

  “Am I allowed to come over there?”

  “You’re allowed to do as you please.”

  “True,” she agreed. “But that’s not what I meant.” A luxurious stretch gave way to another yawn, then still sleepy, with her tangled knot of bed hair, she padded over to him. “Shove off, cushion. That’s my spot.” Clinging on didn’t preserve his dignity. Alle flipped the stuffed satin square off his lap and took its place. She leaned into him, and kissed the tip of his nose. “Bed’s not so fun without you. Also, I want to cuddle, if that’s not against your code of ethics.”

  He could handle that. Couldn’t he? Then again, she smelled ridiculously yummy. Warm linen and sleep entangled with a whisper of last night’s perfume. He grinned at the smudges of eyeliner around her eyes, while she wriggled against him trying to get comfortable. That eventually led to her straddling him.

  “Um. Oh. I’m not sure,” he said, when her mons nudged up against his morning wood. “I don’t think that’s a good position.”

  “It works for me.” Warm breath tickled the side of his neck as she rested her head upon his shoulder. “I’m not moving.”

  “Yeah, but… I think you should.”

  “Okay.” Smiling, she rocked her hips, wrenching a groan from him.

  “Alle, that’s not what I meant.”

  The minx grinned. “It feels nice, though, doesn’t it?”

  Nice wasn’t precisely the word he’d have used. “Alle.”

  “I’m barely moving.”

  Admittedly, it was a very subtle movement she was making. It could almost be the normal motion of breathing, except it nudged the lips of her slit into direct contact with his hard-on. What had been a semi was now painfully erect.

  “You’re fucking evil.”

  She sniggered into his shoulder blade. Her limbs were still lethargic and relaxed. “Why, am I turning you on?”

  What she was doing was insidious.

  Her lips made contact with the side of his neck. “So send me back to bed with a sore arse, if you don’t like it.”

  “Not happening.” His hand burned with the need
to slap her churning arse. Her movements had lost their subtlety and were now deliberate, firm, intoxicating. He groaned despite himself.

  “Do I need to give you a safe word?” She nicked his earlobe with her teeth. “In case it gets too much for you.”

  “You are too much for me.”

  “No, I’m exactly the right amount. You’re too sexy to waste. Monks can be celibate. Priests. Mystics. Men who are so hot they make you want to tear their clothes off and do wild and wicked things with them don’t get to keep their goodies to themselves. They have to share. It’s a universal law of the new feminist universe.”

  “I thought feminists believed in autonomy.”

  “Yeah, but not on Thursdays.”

  “Ah.”

  “Dammit, Spook. You feel good. You smell good too.” She burrowed her nose further into his skin. “I think I like you a little bit sweaty.” He was definitely that. The cold sweat of his nocturnal wanderings still coated his skin.

  “I just like you,” he admitted, finding a smile, despite the conniptions she was giving him. There was nothing but a single jersey barrier between them, which he already knew without looking would have darkened in colour from light grey to slate where their bodies were meeting. She’d gone beyond simply turning him on. He was leaking.

  “Oh.” Her lips widened as the crown of his cock butted right up against her entrance with only the stretchy fabric holding them in check. It’d be too easy to drag that barrier aside and plunge right into her.

  So very, very, easy.

  Suddenly, the feathery light kisses she was pressing to his neck weren’t feathery any more, but demanding. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Then they were skirting over his abs, teasing his nipples. Only when she ventured as far as tweaking the waistband of his lounge pants did he slap her hand away. What they were already doing was torment enough. Although that didn’t stop his hips punching upwards seeking out further contact.