Hellbent, page 14
She cast a glance over her shoulder through her heavy fall of red hair. A secret smile curved her lips as she worked it, giving no quarter. She widened her knees and arched her back, flaunting her luscious backside to his hungry eyes. Letting him catch a teasing glimpse of the shadowy glories between her legs. Luring him.
“Are you begging for mercy yet?” Her voice was husky and low.
He stroked his hands reverently over the incredibly, baby-smooth skin of her ass cheeks, admiring the curves and crevices. “If it would turn you on to win, I’ll beg,” he said. “I’m not proud.”
“You don’t need to beg. You need to stop fucking around and get to work.”
Ah, yes. That was the spirit. Lust had hijacked his ability to make a snappy comeback, so he got on with it. Rolled the condom on and positioned himself behind her, shaking with readiness. She rocked eagerly back with a gasp of excitement. Then the slow, careful back-and-forth, getting himself slick and shining with her sweet juice. Working himself inside her. Then, bit by bit, the rocking deepened into slow, surging thrusts.
She took him so deep, gasping as he stroked inside her plush depths, his whole length kissed and caressed by her shining pink pussy lips. Surging in. Gliding out. It was fucking killing him. She was so damn beautiful. Perfect. There was nothing else like her on earth.
They were far past teasing or talk. Fiona just braced herself against the padded headboard and held firm against his deep, heavy strokes, just gasping with each thrust. The gliding friction, the way they moved, was making them crazy. She was so hot and slick and yielding.
Fi threw her head back, moaning. He drove harder. She rocked back to take him deeper. Hotter, more frenzied. He reached around her hips and sought out the delicate pink pearl of her taut clit. Loved on it tenderly with his finger as he fucked her.
That brought her off. She came wildly, sobbing with pleasure. Her pussy squeezed at his cock like it was sucking on it, demanding everything from him.
It happened so naturally. Inevitably. His whole self, cracking wide open, to give her all of it. The good, the bad. Everything. He had no choice. No say.
After the cataclysm, he slumped over her damp body on the bed, panting. Everything he was, wide open to the wind and weather. Hers for the taking.
If she wanted it.
His face was pressed against her shoulder. She was breathing hard. He lifted himself away to let her breathe, and saw that raised, welted scar on her back, right before his eyes. The one where Kimball had hidden his microchip.
It made him fucking furious.
Fiona sensed it, turning to frown over her shoulder. “Something wrong? You’re angry.”
“Not with you,” he assured her, kissing her shoulder. “It’s nothing.”
“Didn’t feel like nothing.”
Anton let out a sigh of trepidation. “I saw your scar,” he admitted. “I had a moment. Being pissed at them. Not just Kimball for being a sleaze. Jeremiah, too, for not protecting you like he should have. For treating you like a thing that could be traded. There was no excuse for that.”
Fiona slid off the bed, stretching, and tossed her hair back. She gathered the wavy mass and twisted it into a tight, fuzzy rope over her head, a look of challenge on her face.
“Maybe not,” she said coolly. “But don’t get all hung up on it.”
He was chilled by her remote tone. “Hung up? What do you mean by that?”
She coiled the hair into a fuzzy topknot. “I don’t do the ‘poor Fiona’ routine.” She threw the words over her shoulder as she marched toward the bathroom. “The scars, the sob story, the shock value. Cults and child marriage. The ick factor. Fuck all that. I’m not interested in being anybody’s poor, sad, damaged victim. I’d rather be that bad bitch with the machete. Besides, you have my same damn scars. Just more of them.”
He followed her in and got rid of the condom. “So? That’s different.”
“Different how?” She shot him an ironic sidelong look and set the shower running. “Because you’re a man? Please. You think that makes you experience pain differently?”
“Fi,” he said. “Don’t waste your energy being defensive with me. We have deadly enemies to fight. Save it for them.”
“It’s no problem, Anton.” She stepped into the shower. “I got plenty for everyone.”
The door slid shut. Anton just stood there, staring stupidly through the fogged glass at her beautiful wet body under the flow of water. Her back to him.
He shook himself free of his paralysis. He wasn’t going to let her slam the door in his face like that. That shit ended right here.
He pulled open the sliding door and stepped inside.
16
Whoa. The shower just got really cramped and small with Anton introducing himself into it, blocking all the light, stealing all the air.
This was ridiculous. The big, steel-hard contours of his body, beaded with drops of water that slid sexily down the sculpted contours of his pecs, over his taut belly, into the dark thatch of wet hair around the root of his enormous, fully erect cock.
Oh, please. Not fucking fair, for him to be that big, that beautiful, that hot.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” she complained. “You’re too big for this shower.”
“So exert yourself. Make some goddamn room for me.”
The edge in his voice made her bristle. She wiped water from her eyes and tried to retreat. Nowhere to go. Just hard, wet wall tile. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He responded by seizing her. Covering her mouth with a hot, claiming kiss.
She drew back just as a reflex from his aggressive energy, but only for an instant, because God, he tasted good. Hot and salty-sweet. She licked her lips, gazing into his hooded eyes. Drops of water trickled down the stark, perfect angles of his face.
Aw, hell with it. She grabbed him. Wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. As ravenous as he was, like she hadn’t just been fabulously pounded into a state of boneless bliss. She was still slick and soft and quivering inside from the last sex session, but if he still had more to give, she was taking it. Forget pride or dignity or bullshit man-woman games. She felt fierce and pure and raw. She wanted what was hers.
Besides. She liked him like this. Uncompromising. Hard to handle. In her face.
They devoured each other’s mouths. She gripped his cock as the water beat down on them. He caressed her pussy, working her clit until she writhed against him, gasping for breath. Keening as the sensations grew. Swelling into something huge, terrifying.
She was wiped out by the cataclysm tearing through her.
When her eyes finally opened, Anton had his hands under her ass. She was braced against the tile wall, straddling his hips. His cock prodding her pussy lips. Waiting.
She reached down and gripped him at the root of his shaft, shifting herself in position. Getting him just the right angle to shove his thick, gorgeous cock inside her.
And then oh…yes. That slick, slow, gliding invasion. The bulb of his penis, shoving inside, deep and slow and stroking her, everywhere. Her body transformed into a hot glow of frantic welcome around him. Taking him in. Craving more. Yes. Yes. Yes.
She melted still more with each deep, gliding stroke. He stared at her with his soul in his eyes. She strained against him, reaching for it…
Exploding once again.
Anton pulled out of her. He let out a strangled shout against her shoulder as his own orgasm wrenched him.
The realization came very slowly. Tiptoeing into her mind in shocked disbelief.
No condom. Neither one of them had even thought about it.
He hadn’t come inside her, but even so. That was so dangerous. So irresponsible.
Anton kept his face pressed against her hair. The water bounced off his massive shoulders. His lips moved softly against her throat, his teeth nipping her gently.
“Anton,” she whispered. “What the hell did we just do? With no latex?”
He nipped her again and followed it with a kiss and a hungry swipe of his tongue. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. I’ve never done that. Forgotten to suit up, I mean.”
She closed her eyes, biting her lip. There was nothing to say. It would be dumb and unfair to scold. It wasn’t like she’d thought of it herself. She’d dragged him inside her body. He had the marks of her nails on his ass. She had to own this.
It was crazy, to have forgotten something so basic. Her better judgment was trashed. She’d let Anton Trask fuck it right out of her. Squealing with delight all the while.
Time to take responsibility for herself. By brute force if necessary.
She pushed him away. He resisted at first. “Huh? What?”
“I need space,” she said curtly. “I can’t breathe.”
Anton set her down onto her feet.
Fiona shoved him away from herself, soaped up her hand and washed briskly between her legs. “More space than that,” she told him. “I need to rinse.”
Anton’s mouth tightened, but he shifted back. “Really?” he said. “It has to be like this between us? Every fucking time we get it on?”
“You are too much,” she said. “I’m on overload. I’ve already got homicidal thugs and angry ghosts riding my ass. Now I’ve got you breathing down my neck and banging me into screaming oblivion every chance you get.”
His eyes were hot with controlled anger. “You were with me the whole way.”
“Yes! I know! That’s the problem, Anton! I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but holy fuck! Letting you inside me without a condom? I am losing my fucking grip. It is time for both of us to back off from this. Let me have some air.”
“You’re panicking again,” he said.
“Oh! Yah think?” She laughed at him, bitterly. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a poster child for emotional stability even in the best of times. Stop breaking me down into pieces. I can’t function in pieces, and I’m all I’ve got.”
“Not anymore,” Anton said.
That brought on a wave of panic that made her practically feel faint. She shoved again, or tried to, but the guy was rooted to the ground like an oak.
“Don’t,” she said furiously. “That’s just more of the same. Jerking me around.”
“You’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me now. Just fucking accept it.”
“Oh, God.” She dragged a towel off the rack and wrapped it around herself. She tried to speak, to swallow, but her throat was one big, hot aching lump. “You’re making this worse. Don’t ask me for something I can’t give. I’m a mess. I just can’t.”
“You think I’m any better?” he demanded. “Want to know something? You’re the first woman I’ve ever had sex with in my house since I bought that place. Four years ago.”
“But…” She gave him a blank look. “Where do you go to do the deed, then?”
“I keep a suite permanently rented at the Four Seasons Hotel for that. I don’t bring women to my own place. Not anyone. Not ever.”
“God, what a waste,” she said. “Your house would make the ladies melt.”
“I didn’t want to melt the ladies. They didn’t belong in my house. But you did. I didn’t even think twice about taking you there. Fucking you there. And I didn’t even realize how weird that was until right now.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to communicate to me with this fun fact, but that is messed up,” she informed him. “Crazy extravagant, too, but I already knew that about you. A dedicated hotel suite just for playing with your fuck buddies? That’s a man who is deeply committed to his unwillingness to commit.”
“Exactly,” he said forcefully. “And it worked for me just fine. Until now.”
Her throat was getting that hard ache again. “You’re reading way too much into this,” she said. “It’s all the danger, all the drama. All our history. You barely know me anymore, Anton. It’s just great sex. Just be content with that.”
“Too late,” he said. “The damage is done. Don’t be afraid of this, Fi.”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? Can you even hear yourself? Don’t be afraid?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I am nothing but afraid! Of this town, of Kimball, of being chopped up and raped and murdered. I’m trying to be brave—”
“You are brave. Incredibly brave.”
“Shut up and let me finish,” she snapped. “A person only has so much courage at a time. I can’t be brave in all ways, at all times. It’s not fair to ask that of me!”
“You’re braver than you know,” he said. “And we’re worth the risk.”
She looked away from the intense longing in his eyes. “Anton. Don’t. Not fair.”
“You came to me for help,” he said. “You came on to me, hard. You fuck me like a runaway train. You make me want something I’ve never wanted in my life. And then you shoot me down. Every damn time. What is your problem, Fi?”
“If I had the answer to that, I would have solved it by now,” she said fiercely. “This is not a game. I’m not fucking around. I really am exactly this hard to deal with. I genuinely am way more trouble than I’m worth. Face it. Back off. Let me breathe.”
Anton grabbed another towel from the stack and dried himself with furious energy. He pushed past her into the bedroom and picked up his jeans.
“Breathe, then,” he said. “The air’s all yours.”
“Anton—”
“Get some rest.” He buttoned his jeans, and leaned to scoop up the rest of his clothes. “Busy day tomorrow hunting angry ghosts. You’ll need all your strength.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Fiona pulled her sweater and underwear back on and shuffled over to the window that looked out over the terrace.
Dawn had turned the night sky to a deep charcoal gray. She could see the shape of the opposite ridge now through the window. If she went outside and squinted hard, she might even see the Upper Falls and the pool below, where they used to swim.
One of the two good things about this place was how incredibly, outrageously beautiful it was. Mountains, forests, flowers. The falls.
The other good thing had been Anton.
She closed her eyes. Miserable as she was, the intense pleasure he’d given her still vibrated through her body. A residual glow of sexual delight.
It started with that reverent, worshipful kiss at the Shaw’s Crossing bus station. Spontaneous and sweet. Charged with longing and hopes and dreams.
That kiss was a beacon in the darkness. It was proof, or at least hope, that love and sex and all that stuff could be a good thing. Beautiful. Holy, even. Untainted by Kimball’s filth. She’d clung to the memory of that kiss like a talisman.
And for some reason, she was doing her best to kill it.
17
Anton stood outside Fiona’s bedroom door for a full minute before he could bring himself to knock. Crazy, that he knew so much about her and had such intense feelings about her and yet, he didn’t know yet if she was a morning person. If she’d slept at all. If she’d bite his head off again.
He rapped on the door. “Hey. Fi? Breakfast with Eric and Demi and Chief Bristol at the café. Can you be ready in fifteen?”
The door jerked open. Fiona stood before him, fully dressed, already zipping up her coat. Her hair was tightly braided in a long, thick rope that hung over her shoulder.
Morning person. Duly noted. The flashbang necklace still gleamed, swinging below her breasts. He decided to take it as a promising sign.
“I’m ready now,” she said. “Let’s roll.”
Huh. The flat tone of her voice told him he was still in the doghouse. Whatever. He’d been in one doghouse or another for most of his life, and had the scars to prove it.
“Before we go, can I have your microchip?” he asked. “Eric wants to take a look, so I’ll put it in the file along with my notes about the Seattle attack, and the police reports from Highettsville. Eric’s good at poking around on the darknet. He’ll be careful with it.”
Fiona unfastened the earring without protest and unscrewed the hanging bead. She plucked out the small plastic capsule that protected the microchip and held it out.
“If he burns my last password attempt, I will flatten him,” she announced.
Anton took it and tucked it into the plastic envelope. “He won’t do that to you.”
Nate followed them out of the house as they got into the car. “Wait,” he called, running down the porch stairs. “I’ll come down along with you. I want to hear what’s said at this meeting. Plus, I’m hungry and the food is awesome. I can nap after breakfast.”
He and Fiona were locked in frigid silence in the car. Halfway down the hill toward town, Nate met his eyes in the rearview with a puzzled frown. Anton just shook his head. No way could he explain it to someone else if he didn’t understand it himself.
Fortunately the drive wasn’t too long.
Eric was looking out the restaurant window when they pulled up. He bounded out the front door, grinning, which was strange itself. Eric had never been the exuberant type.
His brother’s face was bruised, scraped and scabbed up, and he limped as he approached them, but he had a look in his eyes Anton had never seen. Like he was flying on some buzzy happiness drug, but there was an edge of anxiety to it. As if he were all too aware that it could wear off at any moment and brute reality could come crashing down.
The look of a man who couldn’t quite believe his luck.
Eric gave Anton a hard hug, and Fiona a more careful, gentle one. “Hey, Fi. Look at you, all grown up. You look great. Congratulations for making it this far in one piece.”
“Same to you,” Fiona said. “Sorry to say it, but you look like hell.”
Eric’s grin widened. “Yeah. I still can’t believe we survived. Come meet Demi.”
Demi Vaughan came out from behind the counter as they entered. Like Eric, she had scrapes and bruises on her face, and the same glow of terrified happiness in her light green eyes. She was short and curvaceous and extremely pretty, her dark brown hair twisted up into a thick messy bun, just a few long wisps dangling around her chin.
