Please.
Please, what?
Lick me.
He obeyed the command and raked his tongue in one long sweep up her aching flesh. She cried out. He licked again. Her hands became reckless over his long hair, diving, tugging, as her hips rocked hard into his face. He settled in and licked in quick purposeful swipes.
Her cries echoed around the kitchen.
Come for me, Alison. Let it all go.
Power gathered. She could feel it. It’s coming. She tried to warn him, but her thoughts were scrambled, her mind fixed on the intense pleasure, building, building.
Let it come. I’m ready.
His deep voice, so present inside her head, his mind still connected to hers, made her come apart, pleasure streaking over her sensitive flesh as her internal muscles pulsed over and over. She cried out again and again. Power gathered and released from her abdomen, pushing him away, but he only laughed and returned to tending to her with his tongue. He kept the sensations rolling again and again, spinning out another orgasm then another, until she lay slack against the granite.
Her hands fell away from his head. He didn’t rise. Instead his tongue stroked the insides of her thighs. He kissed his way to her opening. “Lavender,” he breathed against her core. “I must taste it.” With his hands on her waist, he dragged her to the edge of the island this time so he could reach her in just the way he wanted. Her legs lay over his back. He was so powerful. Her mind felt heavy and decadent with the weight of his mind in her. His thoughts expressed his intense pleasure, which fired her own.
His tongue stroked over her opening in heavy laps, taking the nectar into his mouth. She cried out as new pleasure began to build, the walls of her core pulling at him as he licked into her.
You’re so beautiful, he laid over her mind.
Kerrick was all she could manage.
The strokes went deeper each time until his tongue worked her in a strong steady purposeful rhythm. He grunted, his hands on her buttocks now, his thumbs pressed into her hips. He pulled her toward him with each thrust of his tongue. She’d never been taken like this before. She’d never dared let a man get so close. She felt her power gathering again, as well as the grip of another orgasm.
This one barreled down, the power releasing. When she came and the power hit, he held her firmly in order to sustain the fast driving rhythm of his tongue. She came over and over as he possessed her with his mouth. He was pushing hard into her, determined. She felt blissfully used as another wave of power and another orgasm hit her. She screamed and gripped his head, holding him against her.
She panted.
Slowly, he decreased the speed.
Her own pulses faded in strength and intensity until once more she released his head and fell against the granite.
She was breathing hard, struggling to catch her breath. “That was amazing.”
You’re amazing. His deep voice flowed within her head, still joined heavily in her mind, possessively. She lifted up on her elbows to look at him. He cradled her, his arms beneath her knees. He placed kisses over her blond triangle of hair, her thighs, her abdomen.
“Take me,” she whispered. “I need you inside me.” Tears threatened. She was overcome by a strange combination of intense satisfaction and burning need to be joined to him, a great paradox.
He shook his head, the expression in his eyes pained. In a slow movement within her mind, he began to withdraw. She held him fast with a thought, Stop. Don’t go. Don’t leave yet. I want you … now. And I love that you’re here in my mind with me.
He withdrew anyway, leaving her dizzy and strangely bereft, close to tears as, with a final jerk, his mind separated from hers.
He smiled crookedly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a choice. My fucking phone has been buzzing for the last ten minutes. Given our circumstances, I have to take this call, and I already know it’s Thorne and it won’t be good.”
She folded her hands over her stomach and stared up at the ceiling. Her breath hitched a couple of times. She felt fabric fall onto her hips. Oh. He had bent down to retrieve her pants. However, she didn’t move to put anything on. She hoped maybe he was mistaken and with just a little effort, he could still complete what they’d started.
“Give,” he barked.
After a good long minute, he thumbed his phone, then a long curse, impossibly joined together, left his mouth. “Goddamsonofabitchmother…”
He slipped his phone into the pocket of his jeans. He turned to face her.
She had seen that look before, when he’d told her to fold them both to her Hummer.
She sat up, pulling her bra and shirt down. “We’re in danger, aren’t we? Is the house surrounded again?”
She started to unravel her rolled-up thong, but he caught her hands.
He shook his head. “We’re not in any immediate danger. I’m sorry, Alison. I’ve just had word from Thorne. I’ve been ordered to train you for battle. Tonight. And it’s going to hurt like hell.”
Marcus woke up slowly. He was curled up on one of the ratty leather barges, facing the back cushions. As sleep went, not bad. He’d been asleep for hours and had an erection that he was just about to shift around and make more comfortable when he realized he wasn’t alone. He reached out with his senses and felt the presence of six large pissed-off warriors, not a difficult deduction when there was a taint to the air, like someone had lit a box of matches.
“Looks like Sleeping Beauty is never going to wake up. Aw. He must have had a hard night of fighting. He’s not used to the sword and dagger. Pobrecito … we should just let him sleep.” Santiago, the bastard. Marcus lifted a hand and expressed his feelings with his middle finger.
“You were so wrong,” Zach said. “Looks like Sleeping Beauty is up after all.”
Marcus felt his wing-locks thrum and his biceps flex. As his cock settled down, his aggression wound up. He smiled, rolled over, then sat up. “So what the fuck do you assholes want?”
When Zacharius went for him, Marcus jumped to his feet, but Thorne moved like lightning and slid between them.
“Settle down, boys. Don’t waste all this precious juice on each other.” He turned to Marcus and shoved him back. “You can go to my digs, shave and shower. Don’t even think about folding back to Mortal Earth. Endelle would have me by the short hairs if you left Second, even to freshen up. She wants everyone tight.
“Kerrick has ascendiate duty until tomorrow night, at which time we expect all hell to break loose when Her Supremeness releases her mind-shield. And if you think Greaves won’t have something spectacular planned while we wait, you’re wrong.” He then delivered the assignments. “Luken to New River. Santiago, White Tanks. Zach take Awatukee. Jean-Pierre, you’ll be with me in the Superstitions, and Medichi, I want you with Sleeping Beauty downtown.”
“Fuck that,” Medichi said. “Can’t someone else babysit?”
Thorne got in his face, tight, hard. “You’ll do as I say.”
Marcus felt the heat off Thorne’s back. After a long tense moment, Medichi murmured, “Whatever you say, boss.”
Marcus scoffed, just a little snort off his left nostril. He only realized he’d fucked up when Thorne’s fist landed on his face and broke his nose. Goddamn, he didn’t even see Thorne move.
“Shit,” he cried. Fortunately, the couch was behind him so he had a soft landing.
Blood poured down his face. Thorne bent over him and grabbed the hair at the top of his head. “That’s for taking off for two fucking centuries, you worthless piece of shit.”
Thorne pulled back, cradling his hand in the crook of his arm. Bending over at the waist, with his free hand he dipped into the deep pocket of his kilt then palmed his phone. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, Horace. I need you at the Cave. One of the warriors walked into a door.” He grimaced as he put his phone back in his pocket.
“Fuck you,” Marcus cried. Rage pounded through him now, a series of heavy waves pulsing against the inside of his skull. “I never asked to come back. I never would have come back.” He pulled up his tee and caught the blood flowing over his mouth.
Thorne stood over him, his hazel eyes red-rimmed, his mouth grim. “You’re not welcome here. Unfortunately, I have my orders just like you. I serve Endelle and will do whatever she asks of me, but I don’t have to fucking like it. And while you’re here, you’ll respect the warriors who have fought on while you were playing with your balls on Mortal Earth.” He put his hand on Marcus’s forehead then relayed the location of his home. “Go there now, before I really lose my temper. I’ll send Horace to you after he repairs the bones I just broke in my hand.”
Marcus didn’t wait. He felt like twelve kinds of shit. Thorne was right. He shouldn’t have left all those decades ago, yet if he’d stayed, he would have killed Kerrick. Those weren’t just words he’d said. The fury he had experienced when his sister and her kids died had demanded only one outlet—Kerrick’s blood—so he had left, without a word, without a good-bye to any of his brothers, only a message via Jeannie that he had exiled himself to Mortal Earth. The only conversation he’d had was with Endelle, a promise that if she ever truly needed him he’d come back—though only once, as a favor. So here the fuck he was and he hated every goddamn minute of it.
He dematerialized into the foyer of Thorne’s house, his shirt still pressed to his nose. He felt cool Mexican tile under his bare feet. The house had a warm feel and one helluva view of the Sedona cliffs, the massive two-thousand-foot Mogollon Rim.
So this was where Thorne had chosen to build his home. The colors were desert shades—sand, terra-cotta, a deep turquoise, purple, representative of the land, of the dusty sunsets, of a sun-drenched world, a dry world, the opposite of Marcus’s wet, cold Pacific Northwest environment. The change was oddly … soothing.
He waited where he was. His nose still bled freely and hurt like a bitch. His shirt wouldn’t do the job much longer. He needed Horace’s healing power before he took one more step into the house. So he’d stay put.
