My Next Breath

by Shannon McKenna

  The elevator halted in front of a steel door bristling with locks and blinking keypad displays.

  Zade swiftly inserted various keys and tapped into two different keypads. With a series of clicks, the lights changed color and the door swung open.

  She stood there for so long, Zade finally gave her a gentle nudge. “Coming in?”

  She stepped out onto what had to be the top floor of a converted warehouse and looked up at a high, vaulted ceiling receding into darkness above massive wooden beams. Tall arched windows in two rows, one above the other, ran the whole length of the building. Low lights flicked on automatically as they moved inside, illuminating open spaces, exposed red brick walls, fine wood finishes. A spiral staircase led to a second floor loft.

  She hadn’t expected his space to look like this. He could’ve lived in a cave, a tree house, a nuclear submarine for all she knew. But this was amazing. There was art on the walls, but she couldn’t be bothered to look at it. All she wanted to look at was him.

  “You really live here? Alone?” She spun around, staring.

  “For about six years. Home sweet home. One of them, anyway.”

  “Well, well, well. My entire condo would fit in here a couple times over with room to spare.”

  “I like to spread out,” was his cryptic reply. He reset various bolts, locks, and codes. A final flick of his finger armed the external alarm by the door.

  She watched him shrug off his coat, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and tapered back. The thick contours of his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt.

  She wanted to touch and squeeze them. Wanted it urgently.

  She took off her coat and found a hook for it. She felt soft and vulnerable all of a sudden. Her sweatshirt hung to mid-thigh over her floppy skirt, giving her a pang of longing for the clothes she used to wear. Sleek silk and tailored wool, designer shoes and fine jewelry, all stashed away. She missed it.

  But her plain outfit didn’t seem to turn him off. He moved closer, his eyes hypnotically intent on hers. “Doors are locked,” he said. “I said a soft bed and clean sheets, but I don’t know if I can even make it all the way up there.”

  “Those were your conditions. Not mine.” Her voice shook at the sense of boundless possibility that hummed around him like a force field. It enthralled her.

  He pulled a condom out of his wallet and tossed both wallet and condom onto a mahogany wooden dining table. A step backwards and she found herself leaning against it, grateful for the support.

  Zade bent over her, lifting her hair away from her face, inhaling deeply. “Oh, man,” he murmured. “You smell so fucking good.”

  “I’m not wearing perfume,” she confessed. “Haven’t for months now.”

  “You don’t have to. You smell like you. Complicated. Different. Changing all the time. Beautiful.”

  “Aw,” she whispered. “What a silly thing to say. But really sweet.”

  He studied her face. “You still good with all of this?” he asked cautiously. “After everything that’s happened—”

  She grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer.

  Instantly they were sucked into the hot vortex of another insanely intense kiss. She arched against him, aroused beyond belief. That pull inside her. So deep.

  “Alison,” he muttered, his voice soft and rough with longing. “I want to just lay you down on this table and fuck you right here.”

  That sounds just great. You go for it. She wanted to say it, but her throat was locked.

  Next best thing, non-verbal communication. She grabbed her skirt and lifted it until he could see that she hadn’t bothered to retrieve her underwear from the rooftop.

  He made a tormented sound in the back of his throat and slid his hand up to cup her pussy as he kissed her again.

  She pressed and squirmed against his hand as he stroked the tender seam and then slipped his fingertip barely inside. He knew just when to plunge and when to retreat, when to penetrate her slick depths while his lips and tongue played the same sensual game with her mouth.

  They left words behind. Kissing was the new language. A self she’d never known had surged up from that fathomless well inside, full of desperate yearning and speaking only through kisses.

  She tugged at the buttons on his shirt.

  “Whoa,” he muttered. “Let me get those boots off you first.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  He frowned as he struggled with them. “Do you always pull the goddamn laces so tight? Is that like an actual combat thing?”

  “Oh, just let me do it,” she said breathlessly.

  But he batted her hand away and wrestled the first boot off, then the second. She dragged him hungrily back into their kiss and felt his smile of approval against her lips. “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered.

  She wanted to laugh, but it was literally true. She felt feverish. A drop of water would hiss off her into steam. His touch felt so good, caressing her clit with his thumb. Across, then around, sensitive and deliberate, teasing and insisting until that wildly sensual delight swelled higher … and then exploded. Deep pulses, one after the other. Erotic bliss. Never ending.

  Awareness flickered back slowly. Every part of her glowed. The slightest movement sent delicious orgasmic shivers rippling through her.

  A snaking silver pipe on the ceiling far above her came into focus. She was flat on her back on the table and Zade was bent over her, nuzzling her chest, still petting her labia with his fingertips.

  He licked them. “Yum,” he whispered. “You taste so sweet. I want to go down on you again.”

  She shook her head violently.

  He lifted his head, his gaze wary. “No to what? Don’t make me guess.”

  “Now.” Her voice broke through the barrier, shaking. “Stop teasing. Do it.”

  A harsh moan jerked out of him. “Fuck yeah.”

  She dragged herself back up to a half-sitting position using his shirt, and reached for his belt buckle.

  He yanked it loose for her, then shoved his pants and briefs down. His cock sprang out into her hands at last, amazingly thick and hard. She gripped him, stroking velvet soft skin, stroking his taut hardness, squeezing to feel his thundering pulse with her fingers. Wow.

  He trapped her hands in his own, sliding them roughly up and down his shaft.

  “You’re so juicy and soft,” he murmured into her ear. “Go on. Grab me hard. Squeeze me. You won’t hurt me.”

  She groped wildly for the condom he’d tossed onto the table and fumbled with it, fingers trembling. She almost dropped it, but Zade retrieved it from thin air, ripped it open and put it in her hands. “You do it. Makes me hot.”

  He could have done it more quickly himself, but whatever. She struggled with it in the darkness, then slowly rolled the thing down his shaft. She could barely close her fingers around it. He pulsed and throbbed in her hands.

  She sank back onto the table in silent invitation. Zade seized her ankles, folding them up high and pulling her ass right to the table’s edge.

  She moaned at the sensation as he stimulated her with his cock. Long, sensual strokes, like an eager tongue licking and stroking. Taking his time.

  Too slow. More. She wanted him inside her, right now. Her fingers slid over his torso, all hot skin and muscled abs. She was frantic.

  But he was so strong and massive. He would do what he wanted, when he wanted. She could barely grip his upper arms, they were so densely muscled.

  With maddening slowness, he nudged the thick, blunt head of his cock inside her, pressing in while she writhed against him in desperate eagerness, lifting herself. He pushed deeper, rocking forward and then back as she arched and shifted around him.

  “Tell me what you want,” he muttered against her ear. “I’ll give it to you any way you like it.”

  But it was already perfect. So perfect, it had driven away the pain and noise in her head. Pleasure charged and filled her. I
t left no room for pain or fear. Zade drove it back into the shadows with every sensual thrust and heave of his big body.

  He filled her senses. The strength of his hands gripping her, moving her. The sliding caress of that hot, thick shaft deep inside her. Her body remolded itself to take him deeper with every heavy stroke. Their arms wound around each other, hanging on as the pace quickened to a desperate, slamming rhythm.

  Heat, the light, that shivering knife’s-edge of pleasure rising …

  Release. Had he said the word … or had she? Release.

  Simone let him take her there and stayed there as aftershocks rippled through her body. She lay breathless and spent. Until she noticed a startling change.

  The huge silence in her head. The total absence of pain.

  The noise was gone. Not just pushed away from the center of her mind. Not just driven back from her safe place. It was completely and absolutely gone.

  No pain in her head. For the first time in years.

  She felt amazingly light. She could float up into the air like a paper lantern. Waft into the night sky. Glowing with light, warmth. Fully alive.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. Zade was motionless on top of her. His black eyes searched hers. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “What just happened?”

  Her throat was still thick, her voice hoarse. She stroked his damp, tangled hair. “I don’t know.”

  She was braced for the pain’s return. Holding her breath for the moment it swung back with the relentless power of a wrecking ball.

  But it didn’t.

  She shifted her body, clasping her legs around him and hugging him closer, if that was possible. She felt the heavy pulse of his heartbeat in his cock, still deep inside her. Still hard.

  Seconds ticked by. No wrecking ball. Just their ragged breathing, their hearts pounding. His steely shoulders were tense beneath her clutching hands. His open shirt was soaked with sweat. She stroked his broad damp chest, enjoying the rasp of chest hair. His small nipples tickled her palms.

  Zade lifted her up until she was sitting, but she kept her legs wound around him. Her skirt was still wadded between them, but she barely noticed. She just wanted to keep him right where she needed him. Inside her.

  He cupped her ass cheeks and pulled her tighter. “So good,” he muttered. “I just can’t let go of you yet. You’re magic. Oh, Alison.”

  I’m not magic. I’m not Alison, either.

  She wanted to tell him her name, but she couldn’t. Not now.

  She was floating. Newly released from all the pain and noise. Overwhelmed by how crazy beautiful he was. Every detail of him. Lips, eyebrows, cheekbones. And those eyes pierced her soul.

  “Stay right where you are,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare move.”

  He sighed his relief and kissed her, pressing his cock deeper. Swiveling and rocking. “I came so hard,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “And I could do it again. Right now.”

  He surged back inside her with a low groan. “God,” he muttered. “Can’t seem to stop.”

  His arms tightened. Hers, too, until they were like a knot pulled tight.

  He pulled out of her, with slow, agonizing reluctance, and set her onto her feet. The skirt tumbled down to her ankles.

  She pulled up her sweatshirt, and shrugged her bra off right along with it.

  There. Shoulders squared, hair tossed back, boobs on display, nipples tight in the chill. Her breasts felt swollen. His gaze alone made them tingle.

  “Whoa,” Zade whispered, drinking in the sight.

  “The object of the game is to drive you crazy,” she said.

  “For the record, it’s working. But let me tell you how it has to be. It’s chilly in here, so put your sweatshirt back—”

  “I’m not cold. I think I’m on fire.”

  “Let me finish. I’ll give you one of my T-shirts to wear. Take a shower to warm up while I cook dinner and pour you a drink.”

  “Deal,” she said. “Then what?”

  Heat pulsed between them in the silence.“How about I offer myself up as your sex slave?” he suggested. “Anything you want. As long as you want. Until you’re too tired to roll over.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said.

  “Then follow me. Put your top back on.”

  “Do I have to? This feels good. The way you look at me.”

  “Come on.” He wrenched his eyes away with visible effort.

  Simone padded after him in her stockinged feet and followed him up the spiral staircase, down the balcony corridor. His bedroom was in the corner. It was very large, and dimly lit. There was an enormous bed with a deep blue comforter spread over it and very little else.

  He slid open a panel in the wall and rummaged through a drawer until he held out a soft red T-shirt. “This okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Bathroom’s in here.” He opened yet another door and flicked on a light. Muted lights glowed over a marble slab sink.

  Simone tossed her hair back again and marched in. Chin up, chest out. Flaunting herself.

  He noticed. “Hey. Just stop it right there.” He lifted her chin with two fingers, forcing her to look into his eyes. “We are going to slow this down. I’m cooking you dinner.”

  She grabbed his hand and freed herself, hanging onto it as she noticed his battered, scraped knuckles. “You should look after those,” she said.

  “I heal fast. It’s no big deal.” He turned for the door.

  “Um, Zade?”

  “Yeah?”

  He turned around as she undid the tiny hooks that held her skirt, pulling at the damp material.

  Then she stepped out of it, naked but for thigh-high stockings. “That’s much better. I couldn’t stand all the clammy clinging. Where’s the dryer? I’ll give it a tumble.”

  “Just, uh, give it to me. I’ll take care of it.” He held out his hand.

  She gave the skirt to him. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Wait. One more thing.” She turned and bent over the sink, slowly peeling off one stocking and then the other. Ass out.

  “Damn, Alison.” He snatched them out of her hand and tossed them on the skirt that hung over his arm.

  “Oh, and one last thing.” She scooped her hair up and coiled the thick mass into a bun, thrusting her bare breasts forward. He swallowed, again. This was fun.

  “Do you have a hair tie?” she asked sweetly. “I don’t want to get my hair wet again.”

  He dug a black elastic from a basket on a shelf and held it out without a word. His jaw was set and twitching. He looked like he was trying not to smile.

  “Thanks so much,” she murmured.

  He shut the door with a click, taking all the heat with him when he left.

  Simone went over to the sunken marble sink, fastening the elastic around her coiled hair. Her eyes looked big and excited in the mirror. Her cheeks and lips were so rosy, she hardly recognized herself.She marveled at this sex-crazed woman whose body she currently inhabited. Flinging herself into the arms of a stranger. Practically assaulting him for sex.

  And loving every damn second of it. She felt so incredibly alive.

  So far, so good. This was what a healthy woman full of lust for life and hope for the future looked like right after getting herself properly nailed by a big gorgeous guy. The woman in the mirror radiated power, possibility. She had hopes to realize, dreams to pursue. Hungers to satisfy. Business to attend to.

  A lifetime of it, all ahead of her.And still there was no pain or noise in her head. Who knew how long it would last, but no matter how this turned out, she now knew what freedom felt like.

  And it was amazing.

  She set the shower running and waited for the water to heat, holding doubts and fears at bay by pure stubbornness. Willing herself not to screw up this miraculous, unreal encounter.She had until tomorrow morning, until that appointment with Dr. Fayette, to live out this beautiful, totally improbable fantasy.

  She was going to live the fucking hell ou
t of it.

  Chapter 8

  Rogue hunter.

  Braxton liked it. A definite improvement on his ugly Midlands nickname: the Ratcatcher. His test subjects came up with that, and it stuck.

  Not forever. The Braxton Boys, aka the Rats, were long gone.

  Except for one.

  Braxton gathered equipment for today’s fluid harvest from D-14. Syringes, tubing, vials, doses of the strongest knockout drug ever made. And in his pockets, the telescoping rod and a handgun. Just in case.

  Rogue hunter. It sounded dangerous. He liked that. He’d put that on his business card and his email signature for all his interactions with those Obsidian pricks. A reminder of all he’d done for them.

  After the Midlands massacre, they’d cut off his research program, so he’d leveraged his skills into hunting escaped operatives. He was good at it. The best, in fact. But the one he had in the bag now was his most important catch ever.

  D-14 was a real game changer.

  He descended the spiral staircase three more levels to D-14’s space and stared through the clear reinforced plastic barrier at his captive.

  D-14 was upside down, poised on one hand between the metal toilet and his narrow cot. Motionless as a tree on a windless day. The arm supporting his entire weight didn’t tremble. His bare feet pointed to the ceiling without wavering. His face was calm, his eyes remote.

  He could have been like that for hours. Probably had been.

  Luke Ryan was the name that D-14 had given himself out in the world, after his escape from Midlands, but Braxton preferred to use the serial number he’d tattooed into the worthless punk’s shoulder years ago when this crazy freak show began. Braxton believed in keeping it real, which involved regularly reminding D-14 of what he was … and what he wasn’t.

  D-14 didn’t need a goddamn name. A serial number was enough for him. Eventually he would understand that. Or else die. Whichever came first.

  Another psycho killer Midlander rogue, Mark Olund, had done Braxton an unintentional favor by capturing D-14. After Olund mysteriously vanished a couple months ago, Braxton finally ventured to explore the guy’s headquarters, where he’d found D-14 in a cage on the deepest level. Abandoned. Near death from hunger and thirst. The mechanism that dropped food packets and water bottles into the cage was long empty. Mark clearly hadn’t meant to be gone for long. Meaning that he was probably dead. One less thing to worry about.