First to Burn (35 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Theresa raised her knee and shook her C-Leg to ease the pressure on her stump while she waited. Wulf had ordered her to stay in the room, but it would only take a second to check whether one of the hall vending machines sold baby powder for her sweaty socket liner. The silicone had become uncomfortably sticky from her damp stump sock.

Dismissing the snacks and ice, she fixated on the bright pink
Tabooboo
machine. Line-drawn characters illustrated the display of plain brown boxes. They reminded her of Men Working signs, except these had naked boobs. The box that showed dramatically misapplied jumper cables even had a helpful English label: Nipple Clamps.

Oooo-kay
. If she didn’t read the rest, she’d burst. Given the picture of a large-breasted figure holding a thick black stick, Pocket Rocket was obvious, but did the box labeled Secret Lippy Vibrator contain Halloween candy lips with batteries, or something entirely different?

Fuzzy handcuffs were seventy-five kroner. She rubbed her fingers over the bills in her pocket.

By the time Wulf came through the door, she’d returned to leaning on the wall in the room, but the two boxes tucked in her coat gave her a secret reason to smile.

“One flight up to the roof, or three down to an alley.” He drew her closer, as if to confirm she was still in one piece. “Cruz is immediately below in 218, and after they pick up the weapons and gear, Deavers and the Big Kahuna will take turns next to the exit stairs. Got that?”

While this safety brief appeared to be Wulf’s way of managing risk and its associated messy emotions, she wanted the comfort of his arms. “Got it,” she muttered as she slipped her hands inside his jacket. Heat from his dash up and down the stairs radiated from his body.

“Roof door isn’t blocked, but with the snow and the roof pitch it’s too slippery. Going up is our last resort.” Disengaging from her hug, he turned to the door locks and chain. “The alley leads to well-lit streets in either direction.”

Her hand hovered where his coat seams stretched across his shoulders, which weren’t as squared as usual. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shuddered and planted his fists on the door. “I keep thinking I’ve forgotten something, and my gut’s telling me I’ve brought you into more danger.”

“You didn’t
bring
me. I brought myself.” She wasn’t a super-duper Special Forces hulk, and half the weapons talk in the taxi had been one step away from gibberish to her, but if he didn’t recognize that she had a pony in this race too, if he didn’t understand how much she wanted to destroy the people who’d killed her stepbrother and cousin, then he could hang his ass out a window, frostbite or no. “Beating Unferth matters to me as much as it does to you.”

“That’s why I let you come.”

“
Let
me?” The ceiling’s automatic fire sprinklers showered neither patience nor understanding on her head, no matter how hard she stared up asking for both. “Who replaced my annoying locavore food-dork with a Neanderthal?” Instead of waiting for him to answer with a reply that would further tick her off, she left him in the entry.

“Sorry,” he said, following her to the middle of the room. “Carl told me you’re impossible to stop.”

“In which of your foreign languages does that count as an apology?” Hands on hips, she watched him approach.

“I didn’t tell you how much you helped me today. I doubt Dr. Haukssen would’ve opened up without you, so thank you.”

The sweet words and rueful grin melted her, and his embrace was the mea culpa she needed. “Your inner epicure was doing fine,” she told his collar.

“That was all for you, you know. I wanted to make you laugh.”

“I gathered.” Inhaling against his neck, she caught the scent of snow, if that had a smell, and a hint of his evergreen soap and the hot essence of him.

He ran his hands down her sides, pulling her so close that his coat partially enfolded her and he crushed the stiff corner of one of her purchases into her thigh. “What’s that?”

“Umm.” Her face started to heat to match his body. Buying the Tabooboo items had been a hell of a lot easier than sharing them would be. “Something I found in the hall.”

The man in her arms alerted like a drug-sniffing dog.

“Relax.” Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, she stretched to kiss his ear. “It’s nothing to worry about.” With her voice pitched low, she hoped he’d understand without her having to spell it out. “Something distinctly
not
to worry about.”

The muscles behind his jaw felt as taut as cables under her palms. He didn’t know what she meant, so she tugged him to the king-size bed. The less said, the better. “The other guys are on watch, right?” When he nodded, she tossed both boxes onto the crisp white blanket.

He crouched, as if ready to leap and disarm them, until he interpreted their logos. “What—” he grabbed one of her purchases and wiggled it, “—is a Finger Bunny?”

As she circled behind a chair, she giggled at the absurdity of Wulf holding the ridiculous package and knew she’d be totally red-faced. If he opened it, she’d probably code out over the contents, but anticipation bubbled in her chest anyway.

“You’ve been busy.” He shrugged his jacket onto the floor and stalked closer. “Isn’t it time to take off your coat?”

The simple task of shaking her arms from the sleeves and hanging her coat on the back of the chair while he watched through half-lowered eyelids felt like stripping, despite the fact that she still wore wide-leg pants and a long sweater.

“You bought
these
—” he plucked the other box, the fuzzy handcuffs, off the bed, “—in the hall too?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “This has just become a five-star hotel. No, ten.”

She had no idea what to do next. The room seemed to be getting warmer.

“You want to use them?” Sounding like a man talking through a glass of water, Wulf pulled at his collar. “On me?”

He looked willing, not shocked, so she managed to bob her head. But she wasn’t sure she meant it. The toys were only supposed to be a joke.

“Goood night su-
weet
prince, there’s
nothing
rotten in Denmark.” With dumbfounding speed, he shucked his shoes, socks and everything else until, in what felt like less time than it took her to blink, he was naked and reclining. One of his muscular thighs was flat on the bed, the other knee was raised and both hands rested under his head. “Flights of angels may sing me to my rest, but they’ll have to wait.”

Staring at the sprinkling of chest hair that arrowed to his growing cock, she watched that part move, quite literally
jump
in size, against his thigh, while she held her breath.

“Doc, this is Wulf. Wulf calling Doc. Over.” He wiggled his fingers by the headboard.

“You got naked so fast!” In theory she had the advantage over him, with her responses covered by clothing and his fully visible, but she knew her control was illusive. If he chose, her warrior could take charge in a second. That certainty made her chest rise and fall faster.

“In the future, around you I intend to wear nothing but pelts. And handcuffs.”

His complete comfort exposing his arousal sent her reeling for the safety and predictability of details as she fastened the fabric tabs of the fur-lined cuffs around his wrists. “Technically, these are called restraints, not handcuffs.”

“Technically, these are called Santa’s-making-up-for-my-crappy-Christmas. And now I also believe in the Easter Bunny, since he’s in the other box.”

She couldn’t speak while she tied the attached cords in bowline knots to the headboard posts and tugged. She knew she was a babbler, especially when nervous, but the outlines of his triceps where his arms extended on either side of his head had robbed her of words. His body was chiseled, hard, perfect. He hadn’t changed since they’d explored each other in the light in Italy, and he never would. Only she had changed.

“I want to see you too.” His voice sounded clogged and thick, as if he struggled to speak.

That wasn’t possible. Shrapnel had left dots on the skin of her thigh and hip, like pepper on a roast chicken. She couldn’t show him, not when he would remember as clearly as she did the way she’d looked before, so instead she traced a path from the edge of the cuff, down his forearm and along the meaty part of his upper arm to his collarbone. Her fingers spread to cover as much of his heated skin as they could. She’d love to watch him like this all night.

“Kiss me.” His demand made her raise her eyebrows. Even tied to a bed, he wanted to stay in charge.

When he licked his lips and swallowed, the interplay of the tiny muscles focused her gaze. “Be patient.” Her hand caressed his chest, then circled and flicked his nipple.

“No.” His stare locked with hers as if trying to bend her will. “Kiss me.”

“Stop ordering me around.” She pinched his nipple a little harder than she meant to, but since he inhaled and closed his eyes as if he liked it, she rolled the light brown nub between her fingers and pulled. This time he moaned.

Under her clothes, her own nipples quickened as her chest rose faster and higher. She wanted to rub every part of herself, most especially her aching breasts, against him while she watched his responses, but to see his body, she needed light, and light wasn’t her friend.

Unless
... “Wait.” She scrambled from the bed and found a hand towel in the bathroom without pausing to wonder whether he’d agree to being both tied and blindfolded.

“What are you—oh.” He saw the towel. “Only if you take all your clothes off.”

His commanding tone restored her nerve, which was undoubtedly what the tricky man had intended. “You’re tied up. Not the best negotiating position, is it?” Admittedly, the headboard might fall apart if he applied his full strength, but she wanted to pretend as she wrapped the folded cloth around his forehead.

“I have no doubts about how excellent my position is, believe me.” He gripped the ties above where the restraints circled his wrists and flexed. The move highlighted every upper-body muscle in perfect, Michelangelo-sculpted display. “But now I can’t see, and the internet says that men need visuals, so you should describe everything you do. Out loud. If you want me to, you know, be fully happy.”

She glanced the length of his body. “You don’t seem to need help with fully happy.”

“Please?” His request was what she wanted.

“That will get you somewhere.” She dropped her cardigan, then the stretchy shirt she wore underneath. Her mouth had become so dry she had to swallow before speaking. “I took off my sweater.” Simple actions she could handle describing made a good start. “And my bra.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she told him about removing her shoes—she wore two, so both legs were the same height and she looked normal to other people—and socks—also two. Then it was time to lift her pants leg and press the release pin on her prosthetic, but she froze.

“Theresa?” He waited. “I hear you breathing and rustling so I know you’re there.”

She cringed and held her breath.

“I’m guessing you’re doing something that embarrasses you, like taking off your leg.”

Either he could read her mind or she hadn’t tied his blindfold well enough.

“We had a deal,” he reminded her softly. “You’d talk if I wore the blindfold.”

“Not about this.” As she removed it, the C-Leg felt heavier than usual. She propped it next to the bedside table.

“Why not?” He sounded gentle, not challenging or teasing as he had been earlier.

“Because.” While she peeled the gel liner down her stump, the words churning in her chest sorted themselves into a burst of explanation that became more than she’d meant to share. “It’s ugly, it’s so ugly, and no one talks about it and nobody wants a woman who looks like this.”

“My key body parts beg to differ. Your leg isn’t ugly to me.”

“That’s not possible.” Not unless he had a freak fetish. There were plenty of those on the internet, but no normal guy could want to see this pink knob where she ought to have had the long, smooth line of a well-toned calf. “You haven’t seen what’s left.”

“Look at me. What do you see?” When he raised his hips from the bed, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the proof straining up his abdomen, proof that he wanted her as much as he had when she was whole. “I could be crude and say that spending a day watching your tits jiggle drove your leg so far out of my mind, you could have six or none, I have no idea. All I want is to bone you. Right now. Or should I remind you that I’ll act like an idiot to hear you laugh, so why would your leg change how I feel about you?”

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she conceded. His evidence was still getting longer and thicker. A man who’d allow himself to be tied and blindfolded deserved her courage in return, so she continued undressing. The grind of metal zipper teeth and the shoosh of fabric against the bedcovers filled the room. “I took off my pants.”

He turned his head toward her, and fleetingly she wondered again whether he could see under the towel, but then he asked, “Are you still wearing anything?”

“Panties.” His responses made it easy to say.

He groaned. “What color?” Desire lowered his voice.

To hear, she had to lean closer and brace a hand on the mattress next to him. Her hip bumped his scorching, naked skin, and she fought the urge to press her breasts against him.

“What color are they?” he repeated.

Flustered, she had to check. “Black.”

“Are they wet yet?”

Touching a shaking finger between her legs, she whispered, “Yes.”

“Let me feel.” The words brushed her skin with heat. “Sit on me and let me feel them.”

The reward for straddling his waist was the pressure of his cock pushing against the fabric, pushing and rubbing on her core each time she rocked over him. Her breasts ached too, so she leaned forward until her nipples pressed his chest, but the friction she could generate herself wasn’t enough. Like every other part of her body, her sensitive points ached for more. She stretched to thrust her breast to his lips at the same time she pushed on his probing cock.