Protector Unmatched, page 21
Daphne slowly pushed against him, and he released her from his embrace. “So, us meeting, it was all…”
He nodded. “A setup. I was invisible when I stole your wallet. And I made sure I stood behind you in the checkout line so I could help you out of the problem that was my doing in the first place.” He looked away, not proud of his prior actions.
“And you slept with me only so you could change—”
“No!” He whipped his head back to her. “No, don’t ever think that. What happened between us, the attraction, the sex, the chemistry, that’s all real. I never expected that. When the others found out, they warned me. But I was in too deep already. I realized you were in trouble, and I was only too happy to help you sort out that mess with your brother, and then with his fence Vasili. Those things, yes, I did partially because I hoped to gain your goodwill so you’d never think of killing me, but primarily because I hate to see you hurt, physically or emotionally.”
He caught himself reaching out to caress her cheek but pulled it back before he could make contact.
“Oh, Pearce, you should have told me.” More tears started rolling down her cheeks. “I could have told you after our first night together that I would never hurt you. I hate seeing anybody in pain, even my no-good brother, but you, oh, Pearce, it would break my heart to hurt you.” She shook her head and sobbed again. “Killing you would mean ripping my own heart from my chest. Don’t you understand that? Can’t you see that? I love you, and I’d never do anything to lose you.”
Pearce’s heart began to thunder in his chest. Had Daphne really just declared her love for him? He pulled her into his arms. “Oh, babe.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. They were salty from her tears, but sometimes the truth didn’t taste sweet. “Screw the vision, Daphne. I believe in you.”
However many days, or months, or years he had left, he would spend them with Daphne. And every night they would fight the vision from coming to pass by loving each other. Because as long as Daphne loved him, she wouldn’t hurt him. He believed that. He knew it was the truth.
“We’ll fight the vision together,” he promised.
Daphne’s tears dried, and she slung her arms around him. “Yes, together. We can do it, my love, I know we can.”
She started tugging on his shirt, and he helped her pull it over his head. Her hands on his chest felt good, reassuring, right. And her lips tasted of love, of affection, of trust. He drank it all in, soaked up everything she wanted to give him.
When he felt Daphne attempt to undo the button of his pants, he did it for her and pushed them down, kicked off his boots, and rid himself of his socks. Daphne was already stripping him of his boxer briefs, and before he could pull her back into his arms and press his lips to hers again, she was already kneeling in front of him and gripping his rock-hard cock.
“Fuck!” he said on a stunned gasp.
A moment later, he lost his ability to think clearly. Daphne wrapped her lips around the tip of his erection and slid down on him, taking him into her warm and wet mouth, making him sink into pure heaven. Her hand at the base of his cock, she pumped him hard, while her head bobbed up and down as she sucked him. All he could do was hold on to her shoulders for balance and let Daphne pleasure him with her mouth.
He couldn’t hold back the moans that rolled over his lips, or prevent his heart from pumping more rapidly. Every cell in his body reacted to the sweet torture Daphne was inflicting on him. Maybe this was how she would kill him one day, by loving him until his heart exploded from being too full. But not tonight, because tonight he needed to show her that he felt the same for her, even if he couldn’t put it in words yet. The vision was still hovering over him, still making him hold back that last little bit of himself that he hoped he could one day share with her. But tonight, he could give her something else—if not his soul, then his body.
It was difficult to pull himself out of Daphne’s mouth, her warmth too irresistible to leave. But he couldn’t let her continue, or he’d lose his control too quickly. When he pulled her up and pushed the bathrobe over her shoulders, revealing her nude body, his pulse thundered in his veins, and his cock twitched in anticipation of being inside her once more.
“I need you,” he said gruffly, and eased her down onto the bed, before covering her with his body. He didn’t have the patience for foreplay tonight, not after everything that had happened, and he sensed that Daphne, too, was impatient. He was almost rough when he pushed her thighs apart and plunged into her with one urgent thrust.
Daphne expelled a breath, gasping at the impact, but there was no going back now. He needed to ride her, needed to take her hard, needed to show her what she did to him, how hot she made him, how hungry.
Her pussy was warm and welcoming, like a glove that fit perfectly around him, squeezing him on every withdrawal, and sucking him in with every descent. Harder and harder he thrust, getting as deep as humanly possible, his cock demanding its due.
Daphne’s lips were parted, her eyes focused on him, her breaths ragged. She moved with him, her heels locked around his thighs, her hands holding on to his shoulders as if she feared he’d stop if she let go.
“More!” she demanded.
He followed her wish, took her harder and faster, rammed his cock into her with such force that he surprised even himself. He’d always seen himself as a tender lover, a considerate partner who held back to give the woman in his arms the pleasure she deserved. But tonight, the woman in his arms wanted what he wanted. Wild, unbridled, passionate sex. Sex unmatched by anything else he’d ever experienced.
“Oh, babe,” he said on a ragged breath. He wanted to say he was sorry for being so rough, but her eyes stopped him. In them, all he saw was lust and desire. No distress, no fear, no restraint. Daphne was made for him. And he for her.
Daphne pulled his head to hers and pressed her lips to his, kissing him with a passion that couldn’t be faked, a truth that couldn’t be hidden. Every cell of her body radiated love, and he soaked it up, took it in greedily, because this love was what would protect him in the days to come.
With that certainty, he let go of his control. He rode her until he could feel her interior muscles spasm around his cock, igniting his own release. Bliss flooded him, filling his cells with happiness, his mind with strength, and his heart with love.
Wave after wave crashed over him and lulled him into a state of utter satisfaction. Beneath him, Daphne’s body relaxed back into the sheets as her orgasm ebbed. Without haste, he pulled out of her and rolled off in order to take his weight off her. But he didn’t want to sever the connection with her, so he pulled her against his chest, tucked her sweet ass into his groin, and slid back into her warm pussy.
“Again?” she murmured sleepily.
He chuckled. “Whatever you want, babe. I’m your slave.”
She pulled his arm closer around her. “I like the sound of that.”
He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. “At your service, my mistress.”
32
It was still dark when the activity at the Brentwood mansion went into overdrive. The living room had been turned into a dressing room for the men, while the smaller dining room was meant for the three women among them.
Despite his best efforts, Pearce hadn’t been able to talk Daphne out of going to the cosplay convention with them. She’d insisted that she would be the only one her friend Claus would hand the tickets to, though of course, Pearce knew it was a white lie. She wanted to be there; she wanted to be part of this. He couldn’t blame her. She’d come this far, helped him with countless things to get to this point, and now she wanted to see the fruits of her labor. He’d finally given up opposing her decision and watched her enter the women’s dressing room with a beaming smile.
Pearce headed into the living room and closed the door behind him. Several clothing racks with costumes lined the room. To one side, Thomas and Zane, two full-blooded vampires, were squeezing into the rigid white uniforms of the Stormtroopers from the Star Wars movies, while Gabriel eyed the Darth Vader costume. He, too, had to be covered head to toe in order not to be exposed to the burning rays of the sun.
“I think it’s only fitting that I’ll take Darth Vader,” Gabriel said to Thomas and Zane. “After all, I’m your boss.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Just don’t get too much into character. You’re still one of the good guys.”
Pearce moved farther into the room, where Patrick was helping Manus slip on some sort of gloves with spikes.
When Manus looked up and met Pearce’s look, he grinned. “Check this out.” He moved his hands, and the spikes on the back of his hands extended. They were long, sharp metal claws. “I’m Wolverine. Pretty cool, huh?”
Pearce smirked. “You don’t look anything like Wolverine.”
Patrick turned to him. “Wait until we’re done with hair and makeup.”
“Hair and makeup?” Pearce asked.
The hybrid pointed to another corner of the room, where two dressing tables with mirrors and professional lighting were set up. “I brought in a couple of makeup artists that work in the movies.”
“Wow, you went all out.”
“It’s all about authenticity, trust me,” Patrick said.
“If you say so. So, where’s my costume?”
Patrick patted Manus on the shoulder. “You’re done. Go and have them fit you with facial hair and…” He dropped his gaze to Manus’s half-open shirt. His scars were clearly visible. “Maybe a little fake blood on the chest.”
Manus walked away, and Patrick ushered Pearce to follow him to one of the costumes racks. “So, I’ve only got a few things left that might fit you. It’s either Spider-Man or Jamie Lannister, you know, from Game of Thrones.”
“I’m not gonna get caught dead in a tight red and blue jumpsuit.”
Patrick tilted his head. “Well, it’s Jamie Lannister, then. I’ve got you the leather outfit, rather than the armor, ’cause that’s a little easier to maneuver in. Between you and me, Jamie Lannister is a better choice than Spider-Man anyway. He’s hot right now. Total babe magnet.”
Patrick handed him the costume.
“You told me that I’m the babe magnet,” Hamish said from behind them.
Pearce looked over his shoulder to get a look at Hamish’s costume. Hamish sported a bare chest with dark-stripe fake tattoos and a loincloth with an assortment of weapons, while his face had been transformed by a goatee, dark, bushy eyebrows, and a long braid. “Khal Drogo. Not bad.” To Patrick, he said, “Why couldn’t I get that one?”
“Because I got up earlier. Though if Tessa were here, you might have beat me to it,” Hamish said, implying that Pearce was tardy because Daphne had spent the night with him. He wasn’t wrong.
“I think I’m gonna rock the Jamie Lannister look,” Pearce said. “I look good in leather.” He pointed past Hamish, where Grayson was squeezing himself into a Superman costume. “Better than wearing tights any day!”
Hamish looked over his shoulder and chuckled. “Yeah, that’s manly.”
Grayson looked at them, clearly having heard the jab. “At least I’m not wearing a frilly shirt and knickerbockers like Ryder.” He motioned to his friend, who was adjusting the sleeves of his historical-looking shirt.
“They’re not called knickerbockers, and you know it,” Ryder said without missing a beat. “They’re breeches, and men in the eighteen hundreds wore them all the time. You’re just jealous ’cause you can’t carry off the look.”
“It’s barely a disguise,” Grayson said, huffing.
“Okay, I’ll ask,” Pearce said. “Who are you supposed to be?”
Ryder gave an elaborate bow, then straightened and flashed his fangs. “The vampire Lestat.”
Grayson rolled his eyes. “See, he’s not even choosing a proper action figure. He’s going as a vampire.”
“As a very famous one, whereas you’ll always be known as the man in tights.”
“Man of Steel, Man of Steel. How often do I have to remind you of that?”
Pearce turned away and continued getting dressed. The costume was rather comfortable and had lots of pockets where he could stash weapons. Next to him, Logan was getting ready. His costume was rather simple, a beige outfit that made him look like he belonged into a dojo, but when he added a cape of the same color and stuck a lightsaber into his belt, Pearce recognized the costume.
“So you’re going as Luke Skywalker.”
Logan shrugged. “I can fight in this garb better than as a Stormtrooper, that’s for sure. I just wanna get in, find the source dagger, and get out.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
Logan grinned. “Some people seem to take dressing up a little too seriously.” He pointed to Aiden, who was getting his hair and makeup done at one of the dressing tables. Not that it was necessary. His costume already identified him as the Norse god Thor.
“You think Aiden is the only one into this?” Pearce laughed, glad that there was levity before the big storm ahead. “Check out what our little organizer Patrick reserved for himself.” He pointed to a rack in the back of the room, where Patrick was slipping into a full-body costume.
“Aquaman,” Logan said. “That little cheat! I asked him if he had any superheroes left, and he said that the only costume not spoken for was Luke Skywalker. He was hiding that costume so he could take it for himself, I swear.”
Pearce winked at his friend. “So, you’re not at all into this, right?”
Logan grunted something unintelligible. “Oh, shut up!”
“Well, at least you and Gabriel will look good together.” Pearce watched as Gabriel, now in full Darth Vader garb, approached.
He stopped right in front of Logan. “I am your father,” he said in true Darth Vader form.
“Shoot me now,” Logan said, while Gabriel laughed, the mask muffling the sound and turning it into something sinister.
“Guess we’re ready now,” Pearce said, and looked around the room. There was a knock at the door. Seeing that everybody was dressed, he said, “Come in.”
The first to enter was a Stormtrooper, no doubt Yvette, who, as a full-blooded vampire, had to stay out of the rays of the sun. Behind her, Enya entered. Her appearance silenced everybody. She was dressed as Khaleesi, mother of dragons, from Game of Thrones, her natural long blond hair hanging loose down to her waist. Her gown was blue and showed off her tiny figure. At her waist sat several weapons, and knowing Enya, she probably had more strapped to her thighs or ankles—just in case.
Hamish whistled. “Come to your Khal!”
Enya gave him the finger, and everybody in the room laughed.
“Where’s—” Pearce started.
“Sorry I’m late.” Daphne entered the room. Had she not spoken, he would have barely recognized her. She was dressed as Wonder Woman, complete with shield, high boots, and brass headdress that prevented the long, dark locks of her wig from falling into her face.
His heart stopped. Winter had described how Daphne looked like on the day she would murder him. Now he could see it for himself. This was the Daphne who would kill him.
33
Zoltan watched, from a distance of about five hundred yards, how one of his underlings was diverting a private coach by holding up a sign that read, Entrance moved. Turn left for overflow parking. Dutifully, the driver followed the demon’s instructions and drove into the area Zoltan and his demons had prepared: an empty warehouse. Zoltan had taken care of the lonely security guard and put one of his own men into the man’s uniform.
The fake security guard now stood at the entrance and waved the coach into the building. When the driver stopped and lowered his window, the demon said what Zoltan had instructed him to say in such a case: “Drive all the way in and park. There’ll be a shuttle in five minutes to take your passengers to the convention.”
The bus driver was gullible enough to follow the instruction. As soon as the coach was inside, Zoltan waved at two other demons who’d been waiting in the shadows and gave them the sign to push the heavy sliding gate shut behind them.
Inside, more demons were already waiting. Zoltan hurried inside via a side door and watched with satisfaction how the humans in their costumes waddled off the bus and looked around, still unaware that they had driven right into a trap. Even the fact that the men around them wore sunglasses, when inside the warehouse it was rather dark, didn’t seem to raise any suspicions. At least not for the first minutes, when it was crucial that all passengers left the bus. Zoltan couldn’t risk one of them staying back and alerting the authorities with a cell phone call.
Zoltan let his gaze travel over the humans. Several were dressed as large, hairy, animal-like bipedal creatures he recognized as Wookiees from the Star Wars franchise. Others wore the white uniforms of the Stormtroopers, an army of bad guys from the same movies. There was even a Darth Vader, a Spider-Man, several Klingons and Vulcans from Star Trek, as well as a lonely Batman.
“When’s the shuttle coming? I don’t wanna be late for the mock fights,” a man dressed as Chewbacca said impatiently.
Zoltan approached. “Yeah, about the shuttle. There’s been a change of plans.” He motioned to his demons, several of whom now came out of their hiding places. They surrounded the humans. “I’m afraid we’ll need your costumes. And your tickets.”
Shocked gasps went through the crowd, and several curses bounced off the walls.
“You can’t just take—”
A well-placed punch from Zoltan cut off the protest. The wannabe Klingon fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“Any other objections?”
Their eyes filled with fear, the humans fell silent.
“Yeah. Didn’t think so.” To his demons, Zoltan said, “Strip them—make sure not to damage the costumes. Get the tickets, too, then gag them and tie them up.”
