Fury of Fire (25 page)

Ironic, wasn’t it?

For all his physical strength, he was the weakest of their pairing. The most needy, the one begging without words to be taken…used hard and loved long. He wanted to be mastered—at the mercy of his female while she demanded everything from him. Hmm, he already craved the chains. Had opened his mouth wider, becoming slave to her conqueror when she flicked her tongue over his bottom lip, gifting him with a little taste and truckload of tease.

“You like that?” She nipped him with the sharp edge of her teeth.

Bastian’s muscles fisted up hard, curling his hips off the mattress. “More.”

“How much more?”

“Anything…all you want.”

“Just the answer I was looking for.” Smiling against his mouth, she cupped the back of his arm. With a gentle tug, she slid his elbow from beneath him. “Lie back for me.”

The instant his shoulder blades touched down, rustling on cotton, she delved deep, invading his mouth, rewarding him with her sweetness and…oh, man. She tasted decadent—like a summer storm, clean, driving rain and heat lightning—but it wasn’t enough. He needed her scent all over him, and his on her. Possession wasn’t good enough. Only domination would do…hers over him, his over her. He didn’t care as long as he ended up buried to the hilt inside her.

In the next thirty seconds.

With a groan, he tunneled his hands through her hair. Cupping the back of her head, he drank deep, eating at her mouth. Small hands pressed to his shoulders, she shifted, throwing one leg over to straddle him. His shaft kicked as she settled: knees on either side of his hips, the tips of her high, tight breasts brushing his chest, her tongue deep in his mouth.

Spreading her thighs wider, she rocked against him. Her slick heat bathed his skin, arched his spine, pushed his hips up. Bliss bit deep then whiplashed, nailing him like a body shot to the chest. Fighting for control, his hands flexed in her hair. She rolled her hips again.

Jesus. He wasn’t going to make it. Was losing control. She was too hot. So ready he felt her slide, wet and creamy, against his abdomen.

“Myst…baby.” His erection pulsed. He arched, an instant away from orgasm. “I’m going to come. I can’t…Jesus…I’m going to…oh, fuck.”

“Shh…settle down.”

He drew a desperate breath, throbbing hard, on the verge and then—

A miracle happened.

His body calmed, obeying his female without question.

Bastian shuddered. Holy shit. How had she done that…with nothing more than a whispered command? A moment ago, he’d been a nanosecond from losing it. Now? The urgency no longer ruled him. His fire was banked but burning…leaving him hard and ready, but in control again.

Awed by her, Bastian whispered her name.

She murmured back, praising him, and drew his hands out of her hair. His fingers twitched, and he growled as he lost contact with the silken waves. Using the pads of her thumbs, she stroked the insides of his wrists and pressed his arms above his head. “Keep them there. You don’t touch me until I tell you to…got it?”

No way. Unfair. He shook his head. “I need—”

“Got it?” She laced their fingers together. Brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, she pressed the backs of his hands into the mattress.

“You’re killing me.”

She smiled. “Give a little to get a lot. My way first…yours second.”

Second?
Forget that. Try third…maybe even fourth. Making love to her twice would never be enough. He nipped her bottom lip, protesting the conditions. But…if she wanted her way first, so be it. He’d get what he needed before he let her go.

“Deal?”

“Devil’s bargain.” He rolled his hips against her bottom. She gasped and tipped her head back, riding the undulation. “I’ll make you pay for it later,
bellmia.
”

“Promises, promises.”

With a satisfied hum, she released her hold on him and retreated, taking her mouth from his. Which drove him crazy. In that moment, all he wanted was another taste of her, to tangle his tongue with hers and slide between her thighs.

Oh, yeah. That’s exactly what he needed. Her beneath him. Him deep inside her.

Forgetting his promise, Bastian followed her retreat.

She pushed him back down. “A deal’s a deal, Bastian.”

“Fuck.”

“Um-hmm.” Her eyes full of mischief, she rocked her exquisite ass against his abdomen, giving him a magnificent view of her pink-tipped breasts as she shifted astride him. “We’ll get to that.”

Please, God
. He wouldn’t last much longer. Not if she kept—

His muscles flexed as she trailed her fingers down the underside of his arms. Fingers spread wide, she continued down, caressing his chest, circling the hard points of his nipples. Bastian fisted his hand in the sheets. The little vixen. She was teasing, testing his resolve…pushing him past his limits into uncharted territory.

He never submitted. Ever. But with Myst, he allowed the domination. Forced himself to endure her exploration while she discovered where he was most sensitive, made him arch and groan…and curse. But when she shifted down his body, inner thighs brushing the outside of his, leaned in and—

Oh…Jesus.

Her mouth touched down on his chest, right over his heart. He undulated beneath her, egging her on, enjoying the heat of her mouth on his skin. Delight followed each caress, shoving him into pleasure so intense that he could hardly breathe. It was torture, and he loved every second. She was a female worth worshiping, and as she bathed him in heat, he spoke to her in Dragonese, praising her in the language of his kind.

“You’re so beautiful, Bastian.”

He whispered her name like a benediction.

She answered with heat and, flicking him with her tongue, reached between his thighs. She found him on the first try, wrapping her hand around his erection. With a groan, he gave the f-bomb a work out and surged beneath her.

Showing no mercy, she stroked him, each pull a rhythmic, soul-stealing draw. She paused to pay special attention to the tip of his shaft, drawing out the pleasure. His balls fisted up tight, and he growled, long and low, throbbing in her hand, fighting to hang on and…wait for her.

But…fuuuuck. He was so close.

Twisting beneath her, he rasped, “
Bellmia
, please…let me touch you.”

Stroking him one last time, she lifted her head. As her gaze met his, she set her mouth to his and whispered, “Green light.”

On a snarl, he released his death grip on the sheets. His arms came around her so fast she gasped as he reversed their positions. Mid-flip, he latched onto her breast and, suckling the beaded tip, spread her beneath him. Securing her hands in one of his, he drew her arms above her head and held her prisoner.

“Payback’s a bitch,
bellmia.
”

“Bastian…”

Her husky murmur nourished him, and not wasting a second, he settled deep, hips between her thighs, erection against her heat. Still at her breast, he nipped her gently. With a moan, she arched, asking for more. He gave it to her, laving the sensitive peak before lifting his head to pay equal attention to its mate.

Soft skin slid against his and need spiked, spiraling into explosive sensation. As it raged, Bastian burned for her, listened to the sexy sounds she made, reveled in the way she clung to him, loved the way she begged for his kiss. Unable to deny her, he returned to her lips, tangled their tongues, tasting her deep.

Hmm…beautiful female. So welcoming and hot…so incredibly demanding.

Wrapping her calf over his hip, she undulated, opened her mouth wide, giving as good as he gave her. The roll and release pushed her hips up, and…oh, yeah. He got bathed in slick and creamy heat.

Temptation called. Bastian shifted, releasing her wrists to slide down her body.

“Oh, yes…please,” she murmured as he pressed his mouth to the soft swell of her belly. “Bastian…yes.”

“Where do you want me, baby?” Licking over her hip-bone, he headed south and, grasping her knee, pushed her thighs wide. And…oh, God. She was beautiful here, too. So pink and slick.

He brushed her damp curls with his fingertip. “Here?”

“Please.”

“Mouth or fingers?” He kissed the inside of her thigh, giving her time to decide—because…shit. No way around it. He would have both before he finished: her taste on his tongue and his fingers deep inside her. Questions was…which did she want first?

He flicked her with his tongue, working his way closer to her core with each stroke. “Tell me, love.”

“God…” She panted, tight nipples rising and falling on frantic breaths. “Anything…please, just—”

He dipped his head, spread her slick folds, and licked deep. He groaned as he got his first taste. Hmm…yeah. A feast for a starving male.

Pressing in, he worked his tongue deeper: exploring her softness, coating the back of his throat with her cream. With a wild cry, she jerked beneath him, hands flexing in his hair, begging him for the pleasure. He flicked the little bud at the top of her sex. Playing, cranking her high, he did it again and again, circling with the tip of his tongue.

“Bastian!”

He tongued her again then settled in—holding her down while he stoked, drawing on her sensitive flesh. With a whimper, she caught his rhythm, rocked against him, asking for more. Lured by her scent, undone by her taste, he upped the stakes and slid one finger deep. She pulsed inside, fisting up tight, moaning when he set a pace designed to drive her wild. He stretched her gently, slipping a second finger into her heat, and sucked harder with his mouth.

Spread wide, deep in the pleasure, she threw her head back. Hips churning, back bowed off the bed, she came in a screaming wave of energy. As she throbbed around his fingers, the blast hit Bastian dead center, splitting him wide open. Ferocious need stepped through the fissure, killing gentleness in one broad stroke.

Bastian tried to hold on, to cage the undeniable urge to take her hard and fast…without mercy or feeling. He wanted inside her so bad that…Jesus. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt her. Couldn’t control the animalistic need and—

She came again, clinging to him, sobbing his name. Her need pulverized restraint, sending him over the edge with a snarl. Spreading her beneath him, he rose above her. As she panted, riding another wave of delight, she wrapped her legs around him, inviting him home. He thrust deep, buried himself to the hilt inside her with one powerful stroke, then roared in ecstasy when she clenched hard and held him tight.

Home.

Fuck, yeah. He’d finally come home.

Shifting the precious bundle in his arms, Rikar willed the door locks open with a thought. The deadbolts double clicked, and he shook his head. He’d lost his frickin’ mind. Bringing Angela home was a bad, bad,
bad
idea. But leaving her at the bar—surrounded by males sucking back Budweiser—hadn’t been an option.

Not with her like this. Sleeping hard after the mind scrub…and his feeding.

Shit, he hadn’t meant to do that. Taking her energy hadn’t been part of the plan. As far as he knew, his agenda had read: Angela Keen, quick mind scrub; Ian MacCord, wash, rinse, repeat if necessary. Not stay out all night getting your ass kicked by a gorgeous redhead with serious pool skills.

Rikar snorted. Trust a female to screw up a perfectly good plan.

He glanced down at her, trying not to brush the top of her head with his mouth. But, man…it was hard. Her hair was so soft. He knew it firsthand from when he’d buried his fingers in the fiery strands, pressed his thigh between her legs and her back to the wall, and drank deep, taking his fill.

Now, she lay content in his arms, curled like a kitten, head on his chest, hands tucked inside his leather jacket, her scent all over him.

Fuck, she was pretty.

He sighed, flipped the handle, and shoved the door open. The security system fired up, beep-beep-beeping a warning. He deactivated it with his mind, but his boots stayed planted on the paisley carpet in the corridor. He stared into the dark hole of her condo, unable to turn away, but not wanting to go in. There was no doubt a bed in there. And he’d have to get close to it to lay Angela down. Dangerous territory for him right now.

He blew out a long breath. Maybe he could leave her sitting in a chair or propped up on the couch and avoid the bedroom all together?

Now who was a jerk?

Him, that’s who.

Christ, leave her sitting upright, getting a kink in her neck? What the hell was wrong with him?

Unlocking the clamp down on his legs, Rikar crossed the threshold. He kicked the door closed behind him, shutting out the light from the corridor. His night vision fired up as the condo plunged into darkness around him. Huh. Pretty sparse…not much to look at in the small, upscale apartment.

He walked past a galley kitchen on his left and into the small living room. Long couch, two rattan chairs, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. No area rug, no pictures hanging on the washed-out walls, nothing but hard surfaces and floor-to-ceiling, steel-framed windows with industrial blinds on them. Nothing that would tell him who she was or what she liked to do in her off-hours. Then again, maybe she didn’t have any. Cops were notorious workaholics, spending more time on the job than in their real lives.

The place was blissfully cool, though, like she’d cranked the heat way down. Score another point for Angela Keen. Her tally was now somewhere in the range of plus bazillion on his sliding frosty scale.

Glancing right, he found a narrow hallway. The bedroom was somewhere down there. He glanced at the couch. No way he’d leave her there. She’d wake up with a chill and…

Yeah. He soooo needed to get the hell out of here.

A death grip on his urges, he hit the hallway, turning sideways so her feet didn’t bump the wall. Two doors faced each other across the corridor. A quick check through doorway number one and he located the bathroom. He went right, shouldering the door open, heart picking up pace, pissing him off as he crossed into her personal domain.

Her scent was stronger here, as though she spent all of her time in the small twelve-by-twelve-foot box. Rikar swallowed, breathed in through his nose, out his mouth, and rounded the foot of her bed. The thing was compact, just like her. A steel-frame double with silky-looking sheets and no other embellishments. No throw pillows. No fancy quilts or embroidered anything. No nonsense…just like her.

Man, he liked that about her. Clean, simple, straightforward on the outside, beautifully complex on the inside.

Okay. Enough of that bullshit.

This was an in-and-out mission. And not the sexual kind.

She sighed as he set her down. He watched her snuggle in, the muscles across his abdomen pulling at his hipbones, fisting his balls up tight. Yup. No doubt about it. Time to get the hell out of Dodge, but…

With a curse, he grabbed the heel of her boot and pulled it off her small foot. He attacked the second, dropping it beside its mate on the floor, and went to work on the duvet. Drawing the covers down, he tugged them from beneath her and then brought it up, wrapping her in the warmth of silk and feather down.

Her eyes drifted open.

Rikar froze, his hands in the covers beneath her chin as he got nailed by her hazel gaze. The impact almost floored him.

“Hey,” she said, the greeting slurred by sleep and the aftereffects of the feeding. She blinked once, a slow up and down. “You staying?”

“No.” But man, he wanted to. He brushed the hair away from her temple instead, fingertips lingering on her soft skin. “Go back to sleep, angel.”

Her eyes drifted closed, dark lashes on pale cheeks. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he said, lying through his teeth, trying not to feel good that she wanted to see him again.

As sleep pulled her under, Rikar straightened and spun toward the bedroom door. Escape was priority one. Nothing else he could do. No sense making another mistake. He’d made enough tonight to last a lifetime. Now he needed to get back to the lair. Back to reality before daylight hit and he got fried by the sun.

Thirty seconds later, he was out of her apartment and in the corridor, door double-bolted behind him, security panel beep-beep-beeping as ADT reengaged the system. He breathed a little easier. His she-cop was safe, locked up tight behind the steel doors and concrete walls.

His.
Right. He needed his head examined. A total frickin’ reboot. One he was likely to get when he got home and had his hardware rewired by Bastian and his nasty grief-vengeance combo.

Man, payback was a bitch.

“Don’t think about it,” he growled at himself, cranking the door to the stairwell open.

He went up instead of down, taking the stairs three at a time. The underground garage where he’d parked Angela’s Jeep wouldn’t get him anywhere but…well, underground. Not exactly where he wanted to be right now. He needed air and plenty of height to unleash his inner dragon.

The beast was jonesing to get out. Wanting to stretch his wings, work out the frustration, and forget about the female. About how good she tasted. And where he’d left her.

Moving as though he had rockets strapped to the bottoms of his shitkickers, he came out onto the rooftop. Arms and legs pumping, he sprinted across the blacktop and, planting his foot on the raised roof edge, swan dived his way to freedom. He let himself fall, cold air blasting his face and neck. Halfway down, he shifted. White scales flashing in the moonlight, muscles stretched to the maximum, asphalt rising fast. Fifty feet from the ground, the wind caught, lifting his bulk as he banked hard, missing the corner of a skyscraper by inches.

Some fast flying and twenty minutes later, he sliced his way through Black Diamond’s underground tunnel. Water wicking from his wing tips, he pulled up short and landed on the LZ. As his talons scraped stone, he glanced at Myst’s car.

Fuck him, but he’d have to do something about the Honda. Namely, get rid of the thing. He didn’t want to see it every time he came home. The reminder of her stay in the lair—of his best friend’s love affair with the female and the fact that it was his fault Bastian had lost her—was too much to bear.

With a growl, Rikar flipped his wings. The spikes running down his spine rattled and water droplets flew, reflecting like diamonds in the light of the floating globes. Or like tears. Rikar shook his head, telling himself to get back in the game…that turning his ass around and flying away wasn’t the answer.

No way would he pull a disappearing act. He owed Bastian better.

Shifting into human form, Rikar strode toward the lair’s magical entrance, wrapping his leathers around his body. The fighting clothes suited his mood, and if he was going to get his ass kicked, he might as well do it right.

Sensation washed over him, pricking his skin as he walked through the solid stone wall and stepped into the corridor beyond. He stood there a moment, a whole lot of nothing ringing in his ears. Which was freaking eerie.

Normally, Sloan cranked up the volume, thumping out tunes in the pre-dawn hours. A little Jay-Z or Tupac. Sometimes Nine Inch Nails or, if he felt like old school, Led Zeppelin. Anything—even pansy-ass Neil Young—would’ve been better than the ball-busting silence. But no luck there. The lair was quiet as a tomb…or a funeral home.

Too. Perfect.

His hands fisted, Rikar bowed his head and forced his feet toward the clinic door. In contrast to the howling inside his head, the glass sliders opened without a sound, closing the same way behind him. Moving with purpose now, he swept past the examination table and pushed through the double doors at the back of the triage room.

A long hallway lay beyond, stretching out for what seemed like miles. Doors, planted like blank faces in the wall, marched along the corridor’s right side. Bastian was laid up behind the first, flat on his back in the big bed, recovering from brutal injury. Man, he’d never seen the male like that, and it scared him.

Which cranked his screw the wrong way.

He couldn’t imagine the lair without the big male. Didn’t want to, either. But losing his best friend hadn’t happened. He’d made sure of it. Hadn’t he?

His throat went tight, guilt and loss biting deep.

God, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Given a choice, he would’ve saved his friend another way. But wishing and wanting wouldn’t change a thing. It was what it was. End of story.

Steeling himself for Bastian’s reaction, Rikar pushed the recovery room door open and…

Got a whole lot of nothing except mangled sheets in the center of an empty bed.

What the hell? Yeah, Bastian was a fast healer. They all were, but he shouldn’t be on his feet yet. Should still be sleeping, recovering…healing. Then again, Myst’s energy was unbelievably powerful. As potent as the she-cop’s and…

Whoa. Not going there. Not now. Not ever. He’d done right by Angela and put her to bed. Alone. No way would he allow her to linger in his mind.

A soft sound in the next room brought his head around. Without thinking, he strode toward the connecting door and cracked it open.

Rikar’s jaw dropped as he saw the couple on the bed. His mind took a quick snapshot: naked, mouths fused, Myst’s hands in Bastian’s hair, him between her thighs, her legs wrapped around his hips. Her moans of pleasure. The flex and release of his best friend’s spine as he rode his female good and hard.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy, holy shit.

Yanking the door closed, Rikar wrenched his hand from the knob as though the thing was on fire and stumbled backward. He took another step. And then another. Feeling like his brain had just exploded inside his skull. When his legs collided with the side of the bed, he sat down, breathing hard, the image of the pair burning a hole in his cerebral cortex.

He scrubbed his hand over the top of his skull trim. “Jesus Christ.”

“What’s your problem?”

With a full body flinch, Rikar’s head snapped to the left.

Sloan stood on the threshold, filling the door to the corridor with his bulk, a tray loaded with food in his hands. “You look like you’ve been poleaxed.”

He felt like it, too. A pickax to the head wouldn’t have stunned him more. “Don’t go in there.”

“They awake?”

“Yeah…and busy.”

His buddy’s mouth curved up at the corners. “Get an eyeful?”

“Shit,” he muttered, trying to exorcise the image of Bastian and…Christ. Like that was going to happen anytime soon. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know, but…” Shaking his head, Sloan rolled into the room, footfalls silent on the linoleum floor. The smell of homemade bread and the sweet tang of Daimler’s raspberry jam drifting, he slid the tray onto the table, then turned, linked his arms over his chest, and planted his ass against the stainless steel countertop. “He fed her, Rikar. The second he touched her…man, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Rikar’s brows collided. B had done
what
? Head still ringing from the earlier sneak-and-peek, he threw a load of WTF in Sloan’s direction.

“Yeah, I know. It was freaky…the energy going from B to her,” Sloan said, the confusion in his tone mixing with awe. “She’s totally fine now. I checked them an hour ago. Both were sleeping hard.”

“Not anymore.” Rikar rubbed the back of his neck. Jesus, B had fed her.
Fed a female.
Totally unheard of, never mind, well…crazy. He didn’t know how else to categorize it. It was off the charts…way out in who-the-hell-knew territory.

His brows cranked down hard, Rikar pushed to his feet and headed for the door.

“Good.” Shoving away from the table, Sloan followed. Was right on his heels, a large, looming male, as they entered the corridor. “B deserves a little R & R.”

Rikar snorted.
R
&
R
? Not exactly what he would’ve called it.

“Daimler’s rockin’ roast beef for the morning meal.” Still shadowing him, his buddy punched past the double doors to the clinic a second after Rikar crossed the threshold. “You game?”

He shook his head. “Later.”

“Where are you headed?”

“The Archives.”

Time for some research. He needed to know what was going on with Bastian and his female. The crazy feeding stuff? Yeah, he so wanted answers, and the tomes—written by Dragonkind’s forefathers—were his best bet. Who knew? Maybe he’d get lucky, find the key, and unlock the mystery.