“You like that, too,” he said, his voice low and carrying just a hint of a growl. He took another step forward. “Sirah, I haven’t been able to get the way your body fit with mine out of my head since you walked out the door of that cabin. And I get the impression you’ve been in the same state of mind.”
She said nothing, simply pressed her lips together, and he advanced another pace.
“I think that you had just as difficult a time controlling yourself in that room as I did. It was close quarters, and I wanted to throw you down on the table and fuck you senseless.”
She gasped. “You know, I realize you’ve studied us and learned our language, but I didn’t expect—”
“You prefer the term ‘make love’? Because I could use it, but it wouldn’t be accurate,” he snorted. “You and I both know there are no feelings involved here. It’s just attraction and instinct and a lot of physical pleasure. And that’s exactly what we both need to make it through this war. Admit it. You want me to fuck you again.”
Sirah swallowed a moan. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she liked his rawness, liked the way he made an already filthy word sound even dirtier. And her lust tripled as he stalked toward her, closing the space between them in slow, deliberate motions. She didn’t back down, either. When he was within reach, one of two things would happen. Either she’d shove him away, or she’d drawn him against her. And it was a toss-up of which direction she would go.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said in a quiet and maybe even sincere tone. “I’d hoped you would understand. I would have included it in the message, if I thought you alone would hear it. I can’t speak to you on the level I feel you deserve until I convince at least the highest-ranking members of my crew that you’re worthy of respect. And you can help me prove that.”
He stared down at her, his eyes begging forgiveness, and she felt his vulnerability so carefully hidden behind his rough, tough attitude and his alpha strength. And she had the inclination to believe only she could draw that out of him. The question was, why?
She didn’t ask, just shook her head, battling with herself. “I won’t tolerate it, Ronan. You need to fix it.”
“It’ll take time, but I will,” he promised. “In the meantime, I think both of us can fix something a little more pressing.” He reached up and stroked her face, and Sirah shuddered at his tenderness. Last time, he’d fucked her, just as he’d said, but she could tell that if she let things move forward, it would be different this time. And even though she wasn’t sure she wanted that, she knew she needed it.
When he leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, she didn’t pull away or fight against him. In fact, she felt herself melting into him, her body leaning into his and letting her softness contour to his hard, muscled body. He grunted as she opened her mouth and flicked her tongue across his lower lip, and he shoved his hands in her wet hair, tilting her head so he could take her mouth.
When his tongue met hers, it was like a waltz rather than a tango, and she sighed. Her fingers, digging into the towel to hold it in place, went lax, and she ran her palms up his arms to his shoulders, gripping them lightly. She may not have invited him in, but this was her way of asking him to stay, at least long enough to fulfill her basic human need.
If she hadn’t been so completely enthralled by him, the idea would have been humorous. A Tyrian satisfying her human desire. Irony at its best.
Ronan stepped forward, urging her back, and she walked slowly until her knees hit the bed. He laid her back gently, coming down over her with the grace of a dancer and the intensity of an explorer who has found his treasure and intended to take it for his own. He didn’t hold his weight off her, and she found it delicious, the friction of his clothes against the towel pushing it aside until the thin shift he wore stroked her bare skin, leaving goosebumps on her stomach and breasts.
She didn’t waste time. She wanted the warmth of his skin on her, and she fumbled at the material until he finally chuckled and stood, quickly removing both shirt and pants. God, but he was glorious! His waist and hips were narrow, and his cock stood firm, almost saluting her. She wanted to reach for it but couldn’t find the strength to sit up, her heart pounding so fiercely that she nearly choked on her own breath.
He slid back over her, letting the tip of his erection brush against the inside of her leg and over her clit, the towel completely fallen aside. She moaned in response, her body twitching with need. This time, when she reached for him, she curled her arms around his waist and drew her fingertips over his spine, all the way up to his neck, lacing her fingers together and drawing him into another deep, passionate kiss that burned through her veins.
He stroked her breasts, the pad of his thumbs making her nipples pucker as they tightened and ached. With a firm hand, he clenched her hip, tilting her pelvis ever so slightly as he rubbed his hard-on over her tender, wet folds. She writhed in response, and he kept her from flying off the bed in reaction to the heated sensation. She felt like she might spontaneously combust, especially as his lips found purchase on her neck and shoulder, his tongue laving at her and his teeth nipping. She scored his back, her wild side coming out with vigor.
“Ronan,” she moaned his name, raising her knees and using them to grab at his sides, hold him steady so he couldn’t pull away. She wanted to feel him inside her, filling her up and stretching her to the point of pain. He was large, and the more his cock swelled, the more ecstasy coursed through her. “Please, Ronan.” Had she really resorted to begging? Interesting; she felt no shame in it. In fact, it was liberating.
And Ronan was more than willing to accommodate. He slipped into her, barely an inch, and let out a quiet groan. Sirah felt him shiver as he withdrew and thrust again, a little deeper. There would be no plunging in balls deep. He was going to drive her insane with the slow buildup, and she was going to pour over him when she came.
Wrapping her legs around him, she tightened her hold, digging her heels into the small of his back to urge him forward, wanting more of him and his cock. He reacted, driving in another inch with his next stroke. Slow, steady, increasing the pressure and depth, he made the pressure gather inside her as if she was an old boiler about to flame up and burn down the entire structure with the force of her orgasm. She rocked with him, rolling her hips so he moved against parts of her that she swore had never been touched.
There was no sound but the soft movement of their bodies, the labored breathing they shared, and the throbbing of her pulse in her ears, so loud it nearly drowned out everything else. Ronan shoved his face in the crook of her shoulder as he finally buried himself fully inside her, and she felt the levee break, her body convulsing with pleasure. She fought the urge to scream, knowing it would draw the attention of her men—and likely his as well—instead biting his ear and teasing at his lobe until the heaviest of waves had ebbed.
But the frenzy had begun, similar to fasting and taking your first bite of fresh, delicious food. The orgasm only spawned a need for more, and she demanded it, her muscles tense as she moved faster, forcing him to take her with more force. She thought about rolling over, riding him, and taking her own pleasure, but he was close. She could sense it in the change in his demeanor, the way his motions stuttered.
Putting her hands on either side of his face, Sirah drew Ronan back into a kiss that was just as frantic as their coupling, and suddenly, the world started to spin around her, collapse in tiny fragmented shards that she knew would fall and pierce her heart. The little death. That was what her mother had told her about orgasms, but she’d never believed it until this moment. Earth shattering and deadly. That’s how it felt, and she held onto it, letting it rock her in and out of reality as Ronan finished with a growl. He pressed his face between her breasts to mute the sound, and it vibrated through her, chasing the ebbing wave with a new flow that was even more incredible.
She wasn’t able to define the moment when the sensation passed and reality slammed back into place, and s
he didn’t care. Her body was heavy, her limbs weak. She was lethargic but energized, as if Ronan’s body literally charged her so she could keep going another few days.
He made no move to get off her for a long time, and when he finally slid away, it was with a laziness she would have never expected from him. A slow smile crept over his face, his hand absently resting possessively on her belly. If his finger twitched, he could have her all over again; it rested so close to the juncture between her thighs. “I rather like this arrangement. How about you?”
Sirah didn’t answer right away. That was a dangerous question. “Ronan, we can’t have a truce based on wanting sex. These little trysts are going to cause a problem.”
“Not if we’re careful.” He propped up on one elbow and stared down at her with a very serious expression. “We just have to cover our tracks, right? No one knows what happened in that cabin but you and me. And no one even knows we’re together now. We’re surrounded by our soldiers, and not one of them has any suspicion.” He drew his fingers up her body, between her breasts, his palm cupping her throat and caressing it, before he reached her face. He kissed the tip of her nose and stroked her cheek, and Sirah’s eyelids fluttered, almost closing. “If you can honestly tell me that you never want to see me again, never want to touch my body or let me touch yours, I’ll believe you. If you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to feel this good again, I’ll leave you graciously, appreciative of the time and relief you’ve offered me.”
But of course, she wasn’t that good of a liar. “How?” she asked, suddenly exasperated that it would have to be so hard and a bit confused as to why it was so important to her in the first place that she would take these risks.
“That’s what communicators are for.” He stood and stretched, reaching into an invisible pocket in his pants and handing it to her. “It’s locked. It’ll only receive messages from one other device and only respond to the same one. I have that one. Ignore it until you’re alone in private.”
Sirah gaped at him, turning the device over in her hand. He was serious about this, and she didn’t know how to feel. Part of her thought maybe this was taking things too far, that his insistence mirrored something deeper she didn’t want to consider. But then, the thought of never having him touch her again, never experiencing the floating sensation after the waves of ecstasy crashed over her, terrified her, and she knew she had to agree.
Slowly, she nodded. “Okay, Ronan. For now,” she added, needing some sense of control. If she held the power to call this off, she could maintain her composure and not feel like she was being overwhelmed by emotions that didn’t make sense.
Leaning over her, Ronan kissed her forehead with a crooked grin. “For now.”
Chapter 8
Four uneventful days passed, and Sirah was finally starting to believe that the ceasefire would hold. Of course, she still awaited word from Ronan regarding a new offer, but in the interim, he’d contacted her several times through the communicator, checking in to make sure there was no unrest in her camp over the issue. And to talk about the next time they could be together.
Sirah didn’t know if it was anticipation or the secrecy and danger of the situation that affected her most. All she knew was that she was practically giddy compared to her usual demeanor, and it took a lot of effort to hold back enough to avoid questions from her troops.
She’d stayed busy, as had everyone else, training and exercising. There had been a celebratory meal, though it had been a modest affair since they couldn’t be certain the situation was permanent. But now, she found herself ready to take a breather. She had a feeling everyone did now that they had proof that they could let their guards down a little. They were on a skeleton crew with the watch, not feeling the need to have all posts filled, and that meant a few extra hours of sleep and some time for personal care. She definitely intended to pull out all the stops. She had a face mask and some body cream, and she was going to pamper herself later tonight.
For now, she had about an hour until dinner, and she decided to lie back and just rest for a few minutes before she rejoined the group. But just as she settled herself on her bed, the communicator buzzed in her pocket. She frowned. She’d already gotten two messages from Ronan today, and he never contacted her more than that. It was almost like an unwritten rule, a way to avoid carelessness that would lead to discovery of their physical relationship. Sirah also thought too much contact might lead to additional expectations, and she certainly didn’t want to go there.
She would have to set boundaries with him, clear ones. First, though, she supposed she could listen to the message. In fact, she found herself wanting to hear his thick, rich voice, the timbre that made her body buzz with desire. She pulled the communicator out of her pocket and hit the button.
Ronan’s voice filled the air, but not with the warm, sultry tones she had grown used to. Instead, he spoke in hushed, frantic, insistent tones. “Listen carefully, Sirah. You have to move out immediately. Find a secure location where you and your men can bunker down. An unsanctioned militia is headed straight for you, a group that doesn’t honor our truce, and they have enough weapons to take all of you out in short order. They’re coming in from the east. Please, gather your men and your supplies. You’ve got hours. I would have gotten to you sooner, but I just found out. I sent word as soon as I could. Move now.”
The message ended abruptly, leaving Sirah’s heart racing as she sat up, breaking out in a cold sweat. They couldn’t move everything out in a matter of hours. They would have to pack the entire camp, and they couldn’t move that fast. They had to stay and fight. At least with the warning, they could be prepared.
She was torn, but she knew whatever she did, she had to move quickly. “Be logical,” she muttered to herself. If these Tyrians really had the weaponry and the power Ronan warned about, they could devastate her camp; it wouldn’t matter how hard they fought or how well they prepared. When it came to weapons, the enemy had the upper hand. They had the poison darts on top of everything else. And their targeting methods were top notch. But if they left, they would have to leave most of their supplies, as well as their tents and everything else, here. When the Tyrians arrived, they’d blast the place. Everything would go up in flames, and her men would lose the only home they had. Either way, they were screwed.
Launching herself off the bed, she grabbed her personal communicator, the one she used to contact her men, and dialed the pin to reach Bishop. Thankfully, he answered instantly. “I need you in my tent, post haste,” she commanded.
“On my way, ma’am,” he replied, and she could hear the rustling of movement before he broke contact. She paced back and forth, waiting for him, trying to figure out how she would explain knowing the dilemma they faced, but she didn’t have time to come up with anything, with Bishop arriving in less than a minute. The look on his face told her how nervous her tone had been. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked, voice filled with apprehension.
“It seems not everyone was on board with our truce,” she told him, going for facts rather than explanation. She would cover what was essential and work the rest out later. “We’re about to get hit with enough force to level our camp. We can either try to fight or get the hell out of here. I hate the thought of running, but we’re not prepared for what’s on its way right now.”
“How much time do we have?” His deceptively calm demeanor was betrayed by the way he paled as he spoke.
“Hours.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how fast they’re moving, only that they’re on their way with the intention of a surprise attack and the arms to wipe us out.”
“We can have about a week’s worth of food and supplies ready to go in an hour, and we can move out in thirty from there.” He shook his head. “We won’t have time to pack tents or clothes, just weapons and ammo. A few personal items we absolutely need. We can make five miles before dusk, maybe another two after.”
She nodded. She supposed they didn’t have a choice in the
matter. She yanked out a map, scanning it for a good place to escape. “There,” she said, pointing. “It’s an old abandoned warehouse west of here. We’re going to leave a trail in that direction and veer north. With the cover of nightfall, we can make it to town and take over the supermarket to bunker down for a couple of days. It’ll be tight, but we can make it work until we have another option.”
“I’ll spread the word.”
He was already on his way out the door as she called after him, “Mess hall, forty-five minutes.” He waved at her over his shoulder, moving quickly and not even turning to look back at her. Sirah burst into motion, taking her hiking backpack from the floor and opening it. She started shoving things inside—two light changes of clothes, a utility belt with tools like a flashlights and tactical weapons, four of her firearms, and some of the jerky and other dried foods that she could carry without weighing herself down too much. They had to be able to march at a fast clip if they were going to pull this off.
She was almost out the door to go assist with packing as much as they could reasonably carry of their supplies when she remembered the communicator in her pocket. Suddenly, she thought this might be a trap. What if they were being herded like cattle right into the hands of the enemy?
She shook her head. For whatever reason, as little sense as it made, she trusted Ronan. She had concerns about his sources of information, but then, his actions when they’d met and his condescension had supposedly thrown them off, made them believe that he agreed with every move they made, every effort to expunge humanity. She had to trust him. She was counting on his word to save hundreds of lives.
Quickly, she took the communicator out of her pocket and sent a short message. “We’re leaving in the next hour, leaving a false trail west but heading north. Thank you. We’ll be safe.” It sounded more certain than she felt, and she was glad that she at least didn’t transfer her concern into her tone.
Her Strict Captor Page 5
