Marked for Surrender (10 page)

"I want to taste him on your mouth,” Andia demanded, and Christophe released Zevon's cock slowly.

She twirled around, her ass in Zevon's face, another torment. He flicked his tongue along the seam, and she smacked his thigh. “I did not give you permission."

Christophe's features were tight and strained, cum on his face gleaming in the light. Andia pounced, knocking Christophe back onto the floor. Zevon would have laughed at Christophe's surprised expression if the sight of Andia straddling him wasn't so damn sexy.

"I believe it's your turn,” she stated and slammed her cunt onto Christophe's cock.

Zevon sucked in a breath, the vision of Andia's lithe body twisted over Christophe's filling his head. He would have been content to be a voyeur, but Andia glanced over her shoulder.

"I want your hands on my breasts.” Her lips lifted in a sensual smile. “His hands are still in cuffs."

Zevon's legs shook when he rose from the couch and slid between Christophe's legs on his knees. He ran his hands over the skin of her hips, higher and higher until he reached her soft tits. She arched her back, pressing her head back on his shoulder. From his vantage point, he could see his hands filled with her breasts and Christophe's cock buried deep inside her. Zevon remained still for a moment. It felt right to be like this, the three of them bound together. He wanted to stay like that forever, with Christophe's thighs trembling against the sides of Zevon's hips and Andia's hair tickling his shoulder. For the first time, he savored the moment, letting the past and the future go.

"Mistress.” Christophe's husky voice was strained, and his hips were frantic beneath her.

"Fuck me, Christophe. Fuck me hard.” Andia writhed in Zevon's hands. His dick was pressed against her ass. Stars, he would love to slide inside her ass while Christophe fucked her cunt.

In time with Christophe's thrusts, Zevon rolled and pinched her nipples, plucking them, staring at them. She dug her nails into Christophe's chest. Her keening cry buzzed in Zevon's ears, and he thrust his cock against her back, wishing he was in the fist of her ass but reveling in the softness of her skin.

Somehow Christophe had held on, but sweat poured from the man's forehead. Gently taking over, Zevon rocked Andia on Christophe's cock. “Tell him to come, Mistress,” he whispered in her ear. “I'll make you come again and again. Let him fill you."

"Yes! Yes!” She bowed her back, her head tossing side to side on his shoulder. “Come for me. Do it,” she shouted.

The guttural cry from Christophe added a baritone to the music they made as Zevon reached down and pinched Andia's clit, sending her over the edge.

Aftershocks rippled through her body and Christophe's while Zevon murmured in her ear that she was beautiful, that Christophe was perfect, that he would hold her and keep her safe.

They were just words, but he never said them. Once, and only once, had he spoken like this, and that was with Christophe. Zevon had kept his emotions locked up tight until Christophe had surrendered and smashed the locks open. He had given Zevon a gift, something rare and special. Now Andia had given him a gift too: the freedom to let go.

Soon reality would intrude, but right now she leaned against him, Christophe's cock still buried inside her, her skin warm and silky.

"Carry me,” she murmured. “No one has ever carried me."

Her eyes were half-closed, her blonde hair mussed, and her only attire a pair of fuck-me boots. Keeping a hand on her neck, he rose to his feet and gently lifted her away from Christophe. He tipped her into his arms. She fit perfectly.

"Which way?” He glanced down at Christophe, who had risen to one elbow to watch them.

"That way.” She waved toward a door.

Christophe rose and grabbed their clothes. By the time Zevon got to the door, Christophe was ahead of him and opened it. Zevon met Christophe's gaze. Heat flared, and he wondered if he'd ever get enough of either of them. How the hell had this happened?

"Door on the right.” Her voice was muffled by Zevon's chest.

Christophe got the door, and Zevon stepped inside. A huge bed dominated the room. It had a white cover with swirled designs on it in brilliant green and blue.

Zevon gently placed Andia on the bed. When he started to let go, she gripped him. “I want you here. You and Christophe."

"I can't promise to keep my hands off you. Or him.” He wasn't sure he could let either of them rest.

"I'm counting on it,” she said lazily. “Get in, Zevon. I don't want to face reality yet, either."

By silent agreement, Zevon and Christophe got in opposite sides of the bed and sandwiched Andia between them. One of Christophe's hands rested on Zevon's hip, and Andia clasped hers around his neck.

Zevon leaned down and kissed her.

It was supposed to be a quick brush of his lips over hers, a thank-you or a good night. But something happened when his mouth touched hers, and he delved deeper, needing more.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and her breasts were mashed against his chest. It should have led to another hot, steamy collision. Instead it added an element of emotion Zevon wasn't prepared for.

With Christophe's hands on Zevon's shoulders and his mouth fused with Andia's, there was something more dangerous, more frightening than the sweat-inducing sex they'd just had.

He and Andia broke apart, and he sought her face for the same fear that slithered through his veins. What he saw there was her sadness. Her face was lined with the loss, the overwhelming unfairness of her guard's death and her profession's destruction.

"I—” Her voice broke.

He placed a finger over her mouth. “Sleep, Mistress."

She buried her face in his shoulder, and Zevon met Christophe's glance. No, things wouldn't be the same. For any of them.

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Christophe woke up with his arms wrapped around Zevon. Andia was gone, and his lover slept. Never an easy sleeper, Zevon rarely relaxed. But the years they'd spent together had given Zevon a safety net to slumber in.

It wasn't easy to come back into reality. As he studied Zevon's face, Christophe was struck again by the hardness and the strain that always seemed to be present, even in sleep. Zevon hadn't had a pleasant life.

Yet their life together had been special, rewarding. If it hadn't been for Christophe's fear of social rejection—No that wasn't fair. Zevon had never asked for or pressured Christophe to reveal his submissive nature. His lover had been as secretive as Christophe had been.

Christophe stroked Zevon's forehead. Whatever they faced, they would face together. But Andia was a huge question mark. The woman confused him and yet fulfilled a huge need within him. Even Zevon recognized that Christophe fell into submission easily and without resistance for Mistress Andia.

"I can always hear you thinking,” Zevon said, his amused smile taking away the weary expression.

Christophe stared at those telltale lines on Zevon's face. So much pain. Why hadn't he ever noticed that his lover still carried all that hurt? It had taken Mistress Andia, the Ball Breaker, to get him to see.

"I'm sorry, Z.” He stroked Zevon's hair.

"For what?"

"For not finding a way to...a way—” The words weren't there.

The smile died on Zevon's face. “I couldn't tell you, Chris. I was broken long before you met me.” His huge hand cupped Christophe's face. “And you healed so many wounds. How could I expect you to heal them all?"

"I love you,” Christophe said simply. “It was my job."

Zevon snorted. “The day I become your fucking job, I'll dust myself."

"Don't say that,” Christophe snapped. Life without Zevon? Impossible.

His lover's dark gaze held his. “Mistress Andia."

"What about her?” He would have risen, turned his back, but Zevon's hand pressed on his hip.

"She is exactly what you need, Chris. I'm not stupid.” Zevon's lips tightened. “I think you may be what she needs as well."

"That's insane,” Christophe scoffed. “We're fugitives.” He ignored Zevon's hand and got out of bed. “Let's worry about all the heavy emotional bullshit later."

Zevon rose and crossed the room to face Christophe. “We may not have time to deal with it later."

"Let it go, Z.” He didn't want to hear Zevon's little fucking plan to pawn him off on Mistress Andia. Not that Zevon didn't do it out of love, but Christophe didn't want one without the other. Z would never go for that. It seemed pretty obvious that Zevon wasn't comfortable with the level of intimacy that had happened when the three of them fucked. Even when Z let go, after it was over, he shut down again. Zevon had always believed he was extraneous, unnecessary. For years Christophe had struggled to change that belief but failed. Z seemed convinced he knew what was best and that Christophe would be better off without him.

"Chris—"

He glowered. “I said let it go. I mean it."

Surprisingly, Zevon nodded and turned to dress. They didn't speak, and the silence was more than Christophe could stand. He left the room and searched until he found a bathroom.

A shower would help. When the water hit him, the pain in his chest relaxed a little. Despair was an ugly sensation. There seemed to be no way out of the trap Pavlik had caught them in. Even in prison, Christophe had held onto the hope that their innocence, the truth would come out and he and Zevon would be freed.

Now he realized he'd been living in a damn fantasy. They were going to die. End of story.

No. He wouldn't let them. Fuck Pavlik. Christophe lifted his head and fumbled for the soap. They'd survive somehow. All three of them.

The early morning hadn't revealed anything more for Andia. Her search for the truth through back doors and other avenues had only reinforced what she already knew.

Pavlik was part of some conspiracy to keep Ivanovitch guilty of a crime he had never committed. And the council was under Pavlik's control. In all of Nylar's history, the council had resisted corruption. They had been rigid and uncompromising about much, but this? This was the beginning of an upheaval that could change everything on her planet.

Andia clenched her teeth. If not for Mya's paranoia, Andia would have been another victim of Pavlik's charm. She deleted his embedded message and made a momentous decision. She couldn't trust anyone. Her family was all dead. Her colleagues believed the lies they were told. And she was drawn to the two prisoners she'd been ordered to annihilate.

With regret, she erased her e-mail account, destroying the back door and cutting all ties with the council. Her entire life was going to change now.

If she lived.

It was time to get to work. If she wanted to survive, she would have to find a weapon to use against her enemies. The only weapon that would be effective was information. She delved into the different accounts held by Pavlik, careful to cover her footprints as she tore across the systems. Though she'd initially shrugged off Christophe and Zevon's speculations, they nagged at her.

Someone wanted her dead. Why? And what did it have to do with those two men? Her poking had finally yielded that crumb. Anton Ivanovitch.

Young and overconfident, Andia had broken Ivanovitch without a thought. An older man, he'd taken his punishment, almost completely broken before Andia had even met him.

Twenty years ago, Andia had believed the council implicitly. Not even eighteen yet, she'd had very little training. Ivanovitch had been considered mild, easy for a fledgling Mistress. And he had been. Ivanovitch had been Andia's first hard lesson. After he left, she hadn't thought twice about his fate.

But even in those brief sessions, Andia had come to understand Ivanovitch, to even respect him. The man never whined or complained. He expressed no bitterness at his punishment, only resignation. His only concern had been for his son, Xandros. In the end, his son had been the leverage Andia used to break him.

So easy. So foolish.

Only a year later, she'd checked on him in some vain hope the man was “reformed.” Arrogant and confident, she wanted evidence that what she was doing meant something, changed things.

He'd committed suicide.

Lesson one: Don't get too close. She'd gotten too close to Ivanovitch, become invested in his family, felt sorry for his wife who had died from a Brotherhood virus, wondered how the little Xandros had handled his father's incarceration. Stars! The boy had been almost a man when his father had been released. And when Ivanovitch committed suicide, Xandros had been alone, like she was now.

What the hell did one of her first prisoners have to do with the two men upstairs?

The only connection seemed to be that all three men had been accused of collaborating with the enemy. At least with the two men upstairs, she was fairly certain that the evidence had been fabricated.

Was it possible that Ivanovitch had been set up as well? Ridiculous. Andia pulled up his file. Money in his account. Definite transmissions between Ivanovitch and known Brotherhood operatives.

Several of those transmissions were marked CLASSIFIED. Cautiously she hacked into the files. She hadn't spent twenty years in isolation for nothing. Her computer skills would get her answers.

Strings of alarm coding required a deft touch, but she unraveled and disarmed it. Several transmissions between Ivanovitch and the Brotherhood were hidden in these files.

She clicked on one marked five days before Ivanovitch's arrest.

"
You have not obeyed the commands we gave you
,” a voice said. The Brotherhood members always disguised their voices, knowing they were probably recorded.

Ivanovitch's voice was clear. “
I gave you the files you requested. I gave you unlimited access to the council's chambers. I have betrayed my people as you demanded
."

"
You know what you have to do
."

The silence was deafening. Finally Ivanovitch answered, “
I will not do it
."

"
Then your wife, your mate, will die
."

"
You cannot ask me to do this thing!
” Ivanovitch sounded devastated, his voice high and loud.