Taken by Fire (22 page)

She cut him off with a kiss, wrapping herself around him like she’d never let him go.

“You need to help me christen this place,” she told him after she’d kissed him breathless. “I can’t think of a better way than this.”

“No food … so I’ll have to eat you,” he murmured.

“I like … that thing—with your tongue,” she said shyly, and oh, yeah, he liked that too. A lot. And in a matter of seconds, he was hoisting her onto the kitchen table, tugging her jeans off … throwing them across the room. He peeled her top off too, just because he loved seeing her naked.

And then he pulled one of the chairs as close as possible to her.

“I know the kitchen’s one of your favorite places,” he murmured right before he buried his face between her legs; her calves were thrown over his shoulders and she was so open to him. Tasted like heaven as he licked and laved until she was practically writhing off the table for him.

Her moans alone could make him come all over himself. But he held back, reveling in her orgasm as he continued to tongue her through the contractions.

When she was quivering, tugging at his hair, he moved back, kissing his way up her belly to her breasts. She leaned toward him and collapsed into his lap and he held her for a few minutes.

“I don’t think we’re done,” she murmured, her hand sneaking between them to stroke his cock through his pants.

“We’re definitely not done, baby,” he groaned, letting her work him for a while, until his balls tightened and he knew he wanted to come inside her. He tugged her hand away gently and then stood with her against him, kicked the chair away and turned her toward the higher counter. Bent her over it and spread her legs. “Yeah, just like that. Beautiful.”

She looked over her shoulder and wiggled her ass at him.

“Wench,” he growled, and reached for the spatula on the counter near her. Spanked her with it lightly. When she responded, he continued until she was telling him she could come like this.

He wanted to feel that.

“I’ve never used one like
that
,” she said breathlessly.

“I like introducing you to new things.” He spanked her until her ass was a pretty shade of pink and she was squirming and her sex was glistening and then he knew he couldn’t hold on any longer. Unzipped his pants and didn’t bother to step out of them.

Took her quickly, filling her deeply, and then both groaned together when his cock was buried in her to the hilt. “Don’t use
your power,” he rasped. “I don’t want to bring down all that hard work on our needs.”

She spread her legs wider, arched back into him while he stood there, trying to breathe. And then he began to move against her, hips slapping the back of her thighs, their moans mingling together, and yeah, this was definitely the most fun he’d ever had in the kitchen.

S
tryker had fallen asleep almost immediately after they’d made love. He’d muttered a sleepy “Sorry to be a typical male, but …”

And then he’d conked out. It was no surprise, given that he’d been up all night working on this incredible house, and then the sex had taken the last of his energy. She’d shaken him awake and urged him to the couch, where he’d collapsed, falling right into rattling snores.

She’d wandered around the house, exploring, touching, and tearing up whenever she thought about what Stryker had done to give her something of her own. Something that would never be tainted by Phoebe. Mel didn’t deserve any of this, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure why Stryker had given so much of himself, but she needed to give back.

Somehow, she needed to do something for him.

She showered, found lots of new clothes in the closet, and dressed in the green-and-white sundress, paired with strappy white sandals that sat among the twelve pairs of shoes lining the floor. Dev had certainly kept his promise to send things to wear.

Then she needed to go shopping, but even if she knew how to drive, she doubted she’d be allowed off the base. So, in what was probably a highly insane move, she took Stryker’s cellphone from his pocket, cycled through his phone book, and dialed the one person she knew hated her and would have no problem breaking her neck if Phoebe somehow broke loose.

Ender arrived, all scowls and curses, waited while she left a note for Stryker, and then drove her to the grocery store. She tried to make small talk, but the man didn’t make it easy.

“Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have kids?”

“Yes.”

“Boys or girls?”

“Yes.”

Okaaaay
. She gave up, did her shopping, and then, to her horror, at the checkout she realized she didn’t have any money.

“I got it,” Ender said, and he didn’t even sound grumpy, to her amazement. “Dev said to buy you anything you wanted.”

“Really?” she teased. “Because I saw a sporty little BMW on the way here that I’d love.”

“I’ll have to call in for authorization on that one,” he said, without missing a beat. And holy crap, he was actually serious. Ender was fully prepared to buy her an expensive car. Why in the world would he believe that Dev had included a new vehicle in the order to give her what she wanted?

When they got back to the guesthouse, Ender helped her bring in the groceries—Stryker was still sleeping like a log—and as Ender set down the last bag, she turned to him. “Thank you.”

He swung around to her, his tawny brows coming down to form a serious line over his eyes. “You know how you can thank me? Don’t fuck with Stryker or Dev.”

“I know you don’t believe me, but I’m telling the truth when I say I would never do that. I care about Stryker, and I plan to cooperate with your boss.”

Ender’s voice was cool, but not unkind. “Good. They’re both rock-solid guys. Don’t hurt them.”

Though he could mean physically, she got the impression he meant not to break their hearts, which made no sense. There was
definitely something going on between her and Stryker, but Dev … he was interested in her only because she could help him. How in the world could she break his heart?

She didn’t get a chance to press, though, because Ender stalked out of the house, started up his GTO, and tore out of the driveway. Sighing, she unpacked the groceries, including a bag of powdered sugar donuts she’d grabbed to munch on, and began cooking.

She was nearly finished when Stryker came into the kitchen, his tousled hair lending a boyish appearance that was at odds with his markedly rugged facial features and body. He was shirtless, shoeless, and the only reason Mel didn’t jump on him right then and there was that her hands were covered in garlic.

“Hey.” His voice was a lazy morning-rough drawl, and it reached right inside her. A weird, primal vision of her fat with his child and lying in bed with him, his powerful arms holding her possessively, fed her starved fantasies far more than food ever had.

It was also nothing but a fantasy, and she needed to remember that. Even if she and Stryker managed to eke out some sort of relationship, they couldn’t ever bring a family into the mix. Who knew what Phoebe would do to sabotage a pregnancy, and she definitely couldn’t be trusted with a child if she emerged at the wrong time. And how could the situation ever be explained to a kid?

It couldn’t. So back to food it was, and she smiled as she popped the French bread in the oven and removed the pan of filet mignons she’d finished off in the dry heat. “Hey.”

He inhaled deeply. “God, something smells good.”

“Filet mignon with blackberry sauce, sautéed broccoli with almonds, and spicy garlic bread with jalapeños and artichoke hearts.” She lifted the lid on the sauté pan to stir the broccoli.

Stryker let out a long whistle of appreciation, which made her smile even bigger. “Where did you get all the food?”

“Ender took me to the store.”

“I can’t believe I slept through all that,” he grumbled. “Do I have time for a quick shower?”

“If you hurry.”

He moved toward her, his gait loose, shoulders rolling. He wore his smoky sensuality like a second skin, right down to his heavy-lidded gaze that held her captive as he stopped in front of her. One finger came up to hook her chin and lift her face to his. When his lips came down on hers, she was more than ready, and hell, she wouldn’t care if her dinner burned if he wanted to do some heat-making of his own.

Instead, he kissed her, a leisurely meeting of lips that might appear tame to someone watching, but from where Mel stood, it was a carnal promise of more to come. Just as the broccoli pan began to hiss with steam, he pulled back, winked, and sauntered off to the shower.

The bastard. She’d gone weak in the knees and he was swaggering away like he knew it.

Well, she might not be able to make a man swoon with the skill of her kisses, but she’d make him moan at the first taste of her meal.

By the time she’d plated everything and placed all the food, plus two glasses of wine, on the table, Stryker was dressed and looking better than the main course. And sure enough, he moaned at the taste of the beef.

“Jesus,” he said. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“I watch a lot of cooking shows and experiment with recipes.” She shrugged. “When you don’t have much else to do, you get real good at the things you
do
do.”

“You aren’t
real good
, babe. You’re freaking fabulous.”

The compliment was food for her soul, and she grinned so broadly her cheeks hurt. “I’d love to be a chef, but I can’t exactly enroll in cooking school or get a job, you know?” Which was why she’d gone with studying art history. The first couple of years could be done with online courses. She might even have been able to find some sort of online work.

Stryker took a sip of his wine. “At the waterfall, you said something about being an art history major?”

Dabbing her mouth with her napkin, she nodded. “Well, I haven’t declared a major yet, but that’s what I’m aiming for.” She tucked the napkin in her lap. “My mom had an extensive collection of art, and some of my favorite memories of her were when she explained their origins to me or took me to a museum. I learned to appreciate the art in all the places Phoebe takes us, so it just made sense to take online classes while I could.”

“Was your mom also an awesome cook? Because this is amazing.” Stryker cast her a smoldering, seductive glance. “
You’re
amazing.”

Cheeks heating, she stabbed a broccoli floret. “I wanted to do something nice for you. You’ve been so good to me … it was the least I could do.”

“I’d make you a house every day if I knew I’d get fed like this afterward.”

She waggled her brows. “We’re not done yet either.”

Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his belly. “I don’t think anything else will fit.”

“This will.” She went to the kitchen and grabbed the handheld immersion blender and two bowls in the fridge. When she placed the bowls on the table, Stryker frowned.

“Bowls of murky water is dessert?”

“Just wait.” She dunked the whisk attachment into one of the bowls and turned on the mixer. Then she turned on her own power, and keeping a tight hold on it, she channeled a trickle of her gift into the ceramic bowl, ignoring the twinge of pain in her head that came with her restraint. The mixture in the bowl, which had been lukewarm, since it had been made with boiling water and then placed in the refrigerator, chilled quickly. It set up within seconds, and thanks to the whisk, it whipped up into a light froth. When it was the right consistency, she removed the whisk and repeated the procedure with the other dish.

“Voilà,” she said, as she pushed one bowl in front of Stryker.
“Foamy blancmange. Light, sweet, and tastes like vanilla. It’s art and food combined.”

“That. Was. Awesome.” Stryker’s crystalline eyes fixed on her with something akin to admiration, and she warmed from the inside out.

“Wait until you taste it. It melts on your tongue.”

He kept his gaze on her while he dipped his spoon into the foam and brought it to his mouth. “That’s good.” His eyes darkened dangerously, and her spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “But you know how it would be better?”

She gulped. “N-no?”

The wicked smile that touched his lips made her mouth go dry, and then he was on his feet, she was lifted onto the table, scattering dishes everywhere. She squealed, and then gasped when he flipped up her dress, tore off her panties, and used one palm to push her back on the table.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why—”

“Close. Your. Eyes.”

Right. Okay. She obeyed, and was rewarded with a curious sensation between her legs. The foam. Stryker drizzled the foam over her sex, and she groaned with pleasure. It was like soapsuds, except cooler, with the bubbles popping and tickling her sensitive flesh. She’d never felt anything like it, but she made a mental note to keep the ingredients handy for future erotic play, because damn
 … amazing
.

A warm, wet stroke brought her hips off the table as Stryker licked right up her center, catching the sweet froth. He licked again, added more, and kept the lick, foam cycle going until she was writhing, panting, begging him to let her come.

“You’re ready?” he said against her core. “You want my cock in you?”

“Yes, God, yes.”

He rose above her, palmed her thighs, and tugged her butt to the very edge of the table. Reaching down, he unzipped, released
his erection, and guided it to her entrance. But before he penetrated, she scooped some froth out of a bowl and placed it strategically so he’d feel the cold effervescence with her. His sharp inhale through clenched teeth was followed by a slice forward of his hips, and he was seated fully inside her slick heat, his balls rubbing against her ass.

There was nothing leisurely about this session, and that was fine with her. They’d sated one hunger but fueled another, and this was a main dish of raw need with a side of naughty.

He leaned into her and went at it with wild, uncontrolled strokes. The foam crackled between them, the bubbles bursting on her clit with every hammering thrust. Her orgasm struck like a thunderstorm, crashing over her with such intensity that she threw her head back and screamed. Distantly, she heard his answering shout, felt the hot, rhythmic pulses of his come as he spilled inside her.