Without Mercy, page 15
part #4 of Running with the Devil Series
She brought a hand up and stroked his cheek gently before embracing his head and pulling it towards her so she could kiss him, softly at first, then more insistently. He let her kiss him, let her make love to his mouth, opening to her but as his breath deepened he forgot she was leading and pulled her into a tight embrace, crushing her lips with his. She lost her breath as his tongue took over her mouth, thrusting deeply, tangling with hers, then his teeth, nipping at her bottom lip, at her jawline, her ear, then seeking her mouth again.
He picked her up and carried her over to his bed, dropping her on it, dropping himself on her, legs tangling with hers, fingers in her hair, hand inside her shirt, circling her breast. She held him close, stroking the back of his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair. Her body was on fire, she wanted him in her and she opened her thighs, letting him settle between them, feeling his hardness against her vagina. Sheer lust surged through her and she revelled in it. She’d never wanted someone the way she wanted Anto. He made her body sing. Like she did for his, with her blowjob. The sudden realization made her want to say something, say sorry, but his lips were too busy with hers and she didn’t want to change the current subject.
He pulled her up into a seated position and pulled her shirt over her head and down her arms. Casting it aside, he stood up so he could remove his shorts. He stared down at her, his eyes raking her body, then caressing her face before he bent one knee and leaned over her, not letting his body touch hers as he kissed her again, hard and unyielding before moving his mouth to her neck, lingering there for a minute, then to the hollow of her shoulder, biting at it with his teeth before moving down to her breasts.
Mari cradled his head between her hands as he moved downward. Each time he nipped her, her breath caught at the small flare of pain followed by a rush of pleasure. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, teasing it gently with his tongue before nipping it with his teeth. Mari arched her body and pulled at his hair. He sucked her harder as she responded, drawing as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. He massaged her other breast with his free hand, squeezing it, teasing the nipple, pinching it between his thumb and finger.
Mari whimpered as he switched breasts. They were so hard and sensitive she thought she might explode. Her womb clutched as each suck, each nip, each tweak shuddered through her body. She wanted him to stop but didn’t want him to stop. She cried out, groaned, whimpered and then he moved lower leaving her feeling both bereft and relieved. But it was a small respite as his mouth trailed kisses to her belly button, where he paused, licking at it, tonguing it.
Mari almost came. What was he doing to her? How could that feel so amazing? And yet it did. It was as though there was a taut rope from her belly button to her vagina and every time his tongue pressed into her, it vibrated downwards, flicking at her clit, stroking the inside of her vagina.
She groaned as she thrust upward. She couldn’t take anymore. “Anto.”
He brought his hand to her thigh and slapped it sharply. “Shut up,” he growled.
Then as he brought his head between her thighs, all rational thought fled. Nothing was gentle about him. He was like a bull – making his own way, no mercy, no tenderness. His tongue stroked her, from her ass to her clit, heavy, even strokes like a lion lapping water. Then stopping at her clitoris and stretching her folds with his fingers as he nipped at it with his teeth.
Mari cried out as he did this, arching her back and pulling his hair. She didn’t want to come this way, she wanted him inside her. “Anto,” she tried again.
He slammed two fingers up her vagina with ease, she was so wet with wanting. But the sudden intrusion left her gasping for air, all words fled and all she could do was sink into the sensations. He slid up her body and hovered over her, his cool grey eyes staring into her face. She closed her eyes to his perusal, closed her eyes to the little uneven tremors he was causing as he fucked her with his fingers, as he used the pad of his thumb on her clit, an even, torturous rhythm that brought her slowly to the edge. Like she did to him last night. “Yes,” she whispered as he shifted his weight slightly.
“Open your eyes, Marisol.” His words were soft but demanding.
She slid them open, staring into his as he gripped her head with his free hand. His body blanketed her, his fingers fucked her, his eyes held her. Then he increased the pressure, increased the momentum, edging her up, watching her face.
“Oh god,” she groaned as he tugged her towards the edge. “Oh god, Anto!” She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his back as he slammed his fingers into her, slammed his thumb on her clit. Her vagina clenched around him as she arched her back. She cried out his name again and again. She slammed her body up against his fingers, bucked against his hand and then fell off the edge, her orgasm ripping through her in hard, driving spasms that stretched everywhere. Her heart was stuttering, her breathing jagged as the tremors slowed, still tugging at her core. She lay limp as Anto coaxed them gently, watching her face, seeing each little flicker in her eyes. Then he withdrew his hand and brought it up to his mouth, sucking at his fingers, savouring her ecstasy.
He held himself over her with his elbows, but kept his eyes glued to her face, a small grin playing at his lips. “Was that the best you have ever had, Marisol?” His accent was deeper and his breathing uneven. Mari felt his hardness against her thigh and realized that he had exercised constraint as he brought her pleasure.
She nodded. “Yes, Anto, it was.” She stroked the back of his neck, ran her hands through his hair, caressed his shoulders. She couldn’t stop touching him. She thought she might never be able to.
“I believe you,” he said as he slid his cock into her, bringing her legs up over his arms as he thrust.
Chapter Twenty-Five
They showered together and ate a breakfast of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. Anto couldn’t take his eyes off Marisol. Couldn’t keep his hands off her. Every time she was within arm’s reach, he found himself pulling her to him, caressing her, kissing her, breathing her in. He felt like a man in a desert without a camel and she was his oasis. Then he felt a fool for thinking such flowery words. But she was bringing that out in him. Making him want to be softer and gentler. Making him want to understand what she was about.
He liked that they needed few words, that the silences between them were comfortable. That when she looked at him, her face softened and her eyes held longing. He had to be careful though. She didn’t seem insecure to him, but on the other hand, he was starting to understand her vulnerabilities. She didn’t trust men because she’d been hurt by them. They were shallow, unwilling to do the work to sift through her shy layers to her perfect core. She was beautiful, but he didn’t think she believed that either. If she didn’t believe in herself, then how could she believe others?
He was not the kind of man that would tolerate those vulnerabilities for long. He knew who he was – he knew his strengths and he worked with them. He knew he was not a romantic prissy boy that would make promises and tell lies to get a woman into bed. He asked, and depending on the answer, he either got fucked or he moved on. Usually he got fucked. With Marisol, it was different. He didn’t want to move on, had no plans to do so. She was changing him. Just enough to make him believe that he could love and be loved. With her. By her.
He watched across the table as she scooped a forkful of eggs into her mouth, then laid the fork on her plate and pushed it towards him. He grinned as he caught her eyes, then grabbed the plate and shovelled the remainder of her eggs into his mouth.
“You ate all your bacon,” he accused her.
She smiled. “It was my bacon.”
“What kind of an excuse is that?”
She shrugged then reached across the small table and took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers. Such an innocent gesture, but so much more too. He felt a lump form in his throat. His mind landed on his colleagues, Michael and Dean, both with women they claimed to love. He couldn’t understand it then, and actually still couldn’t. He understood how a man could fall for Marisol. She was perfect. But Kelsie or Isabelle? He visibly shuddered and then as he caught her looking at him with curiosity, gave her hand a hard squeeze before he released it.
“We need to get out of this cabin. Do something, find a place to sit in the sun and talk a little.” Then he did something that even surprised him. “I want to tell you about last night.”
He heard the catch in her breath. It mattered to her that he was willing to share. It mattered to her that he trusted her. “Let’s fish,” she said, her eyes shining. “Fresh fish would be a lot better than frozen meat.”
“You know how much fish I have to eat to fill me up?”
She laughed and his heart thrilled to hear it. “We better get started then.” She picked up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen, dropping them in the sink, then grabbed her running gear out of the dryer. She pulled his shirt off over her head and stood in front of him, naked, vulnerable and a little bit shy. He watched as she slid on her little lacy panties.
“Turn around,” he said, almost holding his breath. A bolt of lust seared through him as she exposed her beautiful toned ass cheeks to him. He fucking loved those panties. She leaned towards her pants but he stopped her.
“Not yet,” he growled as his eyes travelled the length of her. Long strawberry-blonde hair hung past her shoulders in small waves, her back tapered to a slim waist and then flared out a little at the hips. He skipped her ass for a moment, saving it for last as he studied her legs, her thighs and calves, all strong and muscular from running. The toes of her right foot rested on the top of her other foot. Self-conscience and shy, but sexy as hell. If she’d turned to him then with her hand on her hip trying to be sultry, it would ruin the mood. But she didn’t.
He brought his eyes back to her ass, imagined himself biting it, stroking it, licking it. “Turn back around.” She turned slowly towards him, her eyelashes curving against her cheeks as she looked shyly at him. He sat in the chair, his hands on his knees, like the Godfather, he thought, perusing the merchandise. But he shook that thought from his head. Marisol wasn’t merchandise. No one fell in love with merchandise. He gazed at her sweet face, her lips, no lipstick, but dark pink against her creamy skin. The same colour as the brown surrounding her nipples. A polished shell, a promise of perfection inside.
Her breasts were handfuls for him, sitting high on her chest, her nipples hardened by the coolness of the lodge or maybe something more. Her waist was slim, her belly flat as it disappeared below the edge of the lace. “Those panties. They are fucking perfect. Don’t ever stop wearing them,” he told her, his voice husky.
She smiled at him and he was drawn back up to her face, the flash of pearly teeth, a brightness to her eyes. Happiness. “They’re Brazilian panties.” Her words were laced with a measure of gratification and they made his heart skip a beat. She was believing his words.
Anto grinned back. “Well then Marisol, when this is all done, we must go to Brazil and get you some more.” He stood up and headed for the bed, dropping his shorts to the floor and stepping out of them. As he reached for a pair of underwear, he heard her cool appraising voice from across the room. “Not yet.”
He grinned as he straightened up, his back to her. Waiting. He wondered what she saw? His muscles, his strength, the tattoos that crept up his back. The scars? Complete silence and then, “Turn around.”
He turned toward her, slowly. His cock was loving this game and stood up to get a better view. He met Marisol’s eyes and studied her carefully as she let them wander to his hair, to his lips, to his neck. She studied his chest, his tats, his scars, then his biceps. Her nostrils flared a little as she lingered on them. Then to his abs and he watched as her eyes traced the hardness of them, the granite lines. Her blue eyes were smokier now as she gazed at his cock. She stroked it with her scrutiny, it’s length, its width, its hardness. He didn’t know if he could take it any longer.
“Maybe you should take those panties off.” His voice sounded like it had spent three days in a smokehouse. She flicked to his face and bit her lower lip.
“I will. Tonight. You may find this strange, but I am a little sore from your gentle love-making.”
Anto roared his laughter. Fucking woman was perfect. “What will I do about this?” he said as he grabbed his erection.
Marisol grinned at him. “Save it for later, Anto. Save it for me.”
FUCK. “Get dressed then, before I decide to give it to you now.”
She giggled and he melted. It was a light, little note of happiness and it thrilled him. He’d made her laugh, something he didn’t think she did all that often. He felt smug, gratified and pleased with himself all at once. If he could make her laugh every day for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man.
After they dressed, he instructed Marisol to open a can of Niblett’s corn and dump the contents in a covered dish. She looked confused but didn’t ask as she followed him out of the lodge, corn in one hand, a cooler with beer and vodka and ice in the other. He carried the fishing rods and tackle box. As they walked together along a path toward the river, the sun shone down on them, blessing them.
He didn’t take her back to where they swam the day before. That was too far for a walk. Instead he led her through the trees down a barely visible trail that opened up to a rocky shoreline and a deep, fast moving creek. “This is a great spot for fishing,” he said as he set the tackle box on top of a boulder. Marisol looked around. He knew what she saw. Perfection – a feast for the senses. Tall graceful trees behind them and across the river. The glint of the sun off the ripples in the river, casting it in a shimmering silver blanket. Birds in the trees, calling out, each with their distinct songs. Aged boulders strewn around, stone seats for the taking. A hard-to-find gift.
His heart softened by the sudden glint of tears in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. If he were more sentimental he might find himself tearing up, but he wasn’t going to cry. That’s what women did. He would just enjoy the moment, let it pass and get down to fishing. His stomach growled as if it approved of the plan.
He showed her how to bait a hook and cast it into the river; how to reel it in slowly. Watched as she did it, corrected her a couple of times, but she was a quick study. It didn’t take long for her to develop a rhythm, like her blowjob. He told her what to do should a fish bite, how to handle the fish, how to reel it in. Talked about the different bait to use for the different fish. “Corn for trout. They love the corn and I love the trout. If we could catch six of them, I would be so happy I would let you eat one and make you come three times tonight.”
Marisol blushed, but smiled. He wasn’t lying. He was sure she had it in her. He walked a few paces down the river bank, so they wouldn’t hook each other or tangle their lines. They fished in silence for about an hour. Anto kept glancing at Marisol. Her concentration was astonishing as she cast the line and reeled it in, then cast it again, over and over. She caught his eye once, smiled at him, then returned her focus to her rod as she replaced her bait. No nibbles in the first hour and they stopped for a drink. She had a beer, he took a swig of vodka. They sat on the ground, leaning back to back against each other and he told her about the night before. Not everything. Not about Jackman or his meeting with Rusya. She didn’t need to know how uneasy he was about the two men he should be able to trust. But he told her about the call to her father. What he said. How her father sounded.
She didn’t pounce on it, didn’t ask questions. Instead, she said, “Thank you for doing that, Anto.”
He reached back and took her hand in his, lacing his fingers through hers, rubbing his thumb across her palm.
They finished their drinks and returned to their fishing. She had such patience, like him, but the fish weren’t biting and just as he thought they should pack up and move to another spot in the river, the peace was shattered by a sudden shouting of Marisol’s name.
“Oh my god!” Marisol exclaimed as she dropped her rod and started to sprint towards the male voices.
“Marisol, no!” Anto yelled after her, dropping his own rod and trying to reach her before she managed to make it through the trees to the clearing. What the fuck was she doing?
He couldn’t catch her, couldn’t get to her in time. She was as lithe as a gazelle, jumping logs, dodging obstructions, fixated on her destination.
Did she think they were here to save her? Did she think they were the cops? Rage filled him as he raced after her. He didn’t know what made him angrier. Her sudden betrayal or his sudden fear for her life.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mari wasn’t thinking, she was reacting. Someone was here, someone who knew her. The police. She just wanted to get to them. She wanted to make sure they wouldn’t harm Anto and they might because of the cage in the cabin. It would look bad. They should have dismantled everything so it wouldn’t look like she was here unwillingly. But she was, or had been, but now she wasn’t. Maybe. Her mind was racing as fast as her legs were running. Her heart was beating in her throat, not from exertion, but from the adrenaline coursing through her. She heard Anto roar her name, just once and then his thundering footfalls as he ran after her. But that barely registered as she broke through the treeline and then skidded to a stop as she saw the scene in front of her.
Nothing was as she expected. No cop cars, no uniforms. Instead, a large crew-cab truck and two men with guns, not little revolvers, but long, dangerous looking rifles. Like in the movies. The kind that let bullets fly all at once. The kind that were illegal in Canada. The men were looking around, searching for her and the door of the cabin was wide open, no longer a haven, but a dark, threatening cavern. A third man stepped out of the darkness of the doorway into the sunlight and saw her as she saw him.
