Fire's Touch (The Enlightened Species Book Three) (19 page)

She gave out a long sigh, transferring her gaze to the ceiling. He could see her fortifying herself. Dawning realization hit him—
this
was her way of coping, probably the only way she had … and he’d interrupted it. “You have any art skill at all, Conlon Einar?” Her voice had that “I am invincible” tone. Normally he liked her strength, but right now he wished she’d just drop it and let him be there for her. Conlon shook his head. “Then let me finish what I’ve started. You can ogle it while I work.”

Leaning back on his heels, he did just that. Stacey gave him a single nod and went back to the task as if he weren’t in the room. The propeller/flame scale finished, she outlined a second one offsetting the first so it flowed naturally with the Koi body at thigh front and center. This one was filled in with an orange/yellow-shaded dorsal fin partially obstructed by an open book, the fin for Jack and the open book for Mark.

With an idea of her drawing style, he started to see the pattern. One scale represented the what, followed by scales that detailed the who. The face of the fish was mostly white and orange with a few spots of black. Simple, abrupt lines of detail that looked like a part of the general design became clear. It represented her happy childhood. The stick framing of a huge house made up the fine lines across the top of the head. Within those lines were linked rings, tiny hearts, ink pen and gavel, plus more that were too abstract for Conlon to be sure of what they were. The overall feel was joy.

Then his gaze traveled to where the fish arced drastically along her upper hip line toward her buttocks; then the scales turned dark suddenly. The fine-lined house was displayed in detail. Inside the tiny windows were manifestations of terrorized people. Others showed crumpled bodies in different positions. One reflected a single dente dripping blood. Smoking guns, shackles, cages, and abstract faces emitting silent screams made vomit rise in Conlon’s throat. Her terror had been compounded by the way she’d been captured, forced to watch the people she’d loved be murdered for no reason except she was Hulven. Others were too abstract for him to decipher.

He was grateful that the horror faded somewhat as the arc softened and came around her thigh. The emotion remained dark, though it no longer had the torrential damage feel. The blacks had been replaced by grays, the dark reds and violent orange morphed to deep yellows and softer shades of orange. The rescue encompassed several of them. The depiction of a Tellus and an Aquatie at a partially opened, barred door gave him a sense of the gratitude she felt. There was a Volaticus wing with the upper face of a dark-haired male peering over his shoulder.
Who was the male?
he wondered, feeling misplaced jealousy at the thought. No question Stacey felt a measure of appreciation to whoever it was. How deep did her feelings for him go? And who was he?

The shades continued to lighten. The gavel and pen were again represented in darker hushed tones. A single white scale caught his attention.
Johnny.
It had a tiny teddy bear with blue/gray eyes. The cooling of the colors declared she’d found some degree of peace; seeing the dark horror of the plane crash felt cruel. Devastating. Like him, Stacey didn’t allow the true depth of her emotions to show. Maybe she never had, or maybe it had been learned from the trials she’d faced. Either way, her tattoo was her way of allowing herself to forget and remember in a manner she could deal with privately.

Conlon understood. He used physical exertion to do the same thing. She hid in her room and tattooed herself. He disappeared for however long it took and beat his body to a pulp. Usually he’d go home to Persia, where he’d run flat out for days. When his legs would tire, he’d fly just as hard. That was after spending hours with weights, weapons, and punching bags. All the while, he’d refuse his body the basics for survival—specifically blood—until he felt the emotions wane down to a degree he could deal with. How would he feel if she intruded on that? Especially if she didn’t tell him she understood his motives, possibly made him feel judged or less than for his methods.

He waited until she set the tattoo gun aside with a deep sigh of partial relief and sank into the boiling bathwater before he tried. “I’m not the best at personal conversations. They make me feel … uncomfortable and unsure. Sometimes I feel like the guardian of a crypt full of secrets. My family seems to seek me out whenever they have troubles. I’m the sounding board, I guess. It’s not that I want to be, I just never know what to say … so I just listen.”

With her arms on the edges of the tub, she peered at him with her chin touching her shoulder. He could tell she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Fates, they were two peas in a pod. Conlon continued despite his insecurities. “Right now, I wish I had some words of comfort for you. Hell, I wish I could comfort myself, for that matter. I’d give anything for a speed bag and bloody knuckles.” He gave a self-derogatory laugh. Her eyes widened in surprise. “I get the tattoo. I use a different means toward the same end.”

Her beautiful eyes pinched closed. She swallowed and nodded. Encouraged that perhaps he might have a real shot to open the lines of communication with her, he scooted back to press his back against the bathroom door. The scent of her blood drove his lust. He needed some extra space. “Thing is, Stacey, I’ve always been fine with fucking and idle chit-chat. I’ve never wanted more from anyone.” Conlon cleared his throat of the lump developing. His chest constricted as the plunge of his life loomed before him. “I want more with you. I don’t want fucking and chit-chat … I want to make love and have real conversations … but I have no clue how to get there … or if you want that too.”

The silence felt like it stretched out forever. She rose from the bath like an avenging angel. The tattoo, completely healed, stood in stark contrast to her creamy skin like her black waves of hair. Everything about Stacey was a contradiction—soft and vulnerable on the inside, tough and hostile on the outside. All her facets called to him on such a raw, primal level. Beyond his ability to control, his dentes erupted hard and throbbing into his mouth. She stepped from the tub and balled her fists, the water on her body turning to stream, evaporating before his eyes. Her image wavered under the heat like a mirage. Just as quickly it stopped, leaving her dry. Her eyes held the subtle glow he’d seen earlier.

Conlon tried to rise too, only to find himself cemented to the floor, mesmerized by her beauty. She climbed into his lap. Her hands to his pounding heart, she peered deeply into his eyes. “Conlon, you make me
feel
… and I hate it. And I yearn for it, too. I’m just as clueless about how to handle you as you are me. I’m so terrified of harming you, yet I can’t stand to be away from you. Touch you.” Her lips a millimeter from his, Fates, she was torturing him. “You’re an enigma in my life that I don’t need or want. Yet I …” Finally her lips found his. She nibbled and sucked his bottom lip before planting them firmly against his.

His arms came up to hold fire in them. With full abandon, she moaned when he buried his hand into her thick tresses and guided her to the tile, covering her with his body. He kissed his way over her cheek to her ear. She whispered a plea that rang against his soul. “The conversations can wait. Make love to me, my warrior … but please, don’t let me burn you. I might not survive losing you, too.”

My warrior.
The ownership in her seductive, sensual voice ratcheted his already out-of-this-world passion to new heights. Welcome curves wrapped around his body, heating his blood and skin.
Home.
She didn’t complain about the cold, hard tile at her back as Conlon captured the deep red peak of her nipple between his lips. Her body arced towards him, begging for more.

“Hold my neck.” He growled his demand. Incredibly, she complied without a word. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the massive bed, laid her down gently, and then stood staring at her in complete awe. She was beautiful, strong, independent, and challenging.

He reached for her when the need to touch what he viewed became too much. Stacey smacked his hand away, giving him a devious smile.
Oh, shit.
She rose to her knees at the edge of the bed, facing him, and reached for the snap of his jeans, then slowly drew down his zipper. Her warm hand reached beneath the waistband and the black denim pooled at his ankles. She kissed his neck, scraping her dente over his pulse the way he’d done hers earlier. Conlon growled silently.
Yes! Take my blood,
he silently pleaded.

Stacey smiled and traveled down to lick over his flat nipples, her hand wrapped confidently around his erection. She peered up to gauge his reaction. “Are we bloodmates, Conlon?” she whispered as her tongue outlined the muscles of his chest. “If I took your blood right now, would I have access to every one of your memories? Your fears? Your fantasies?” Her words were emphasized with tiny nipped kisses.

“Yes.” His voice trembled with passion.

Just below his belly button, she paused her kisses again. “Wouldn’t that take all the fun out of getting to know each other?” Her breath brushed across his erection as she spoke. The bent position she gone down to was a feast for his eyes.

Her tiny, pink tongue moistened her lips before circling the rim of where he needed her most. She drew him deep into her mouth. Conlon felt the heat of her mouth engulf him, his groan of pleasure bouncing off the walls as his hands found the dense mass of her hair. Her tentative licks betrayed her innocence in the art she’d so confidently taken to, yet it drove him higher and hotter than anything he’d ever felt. The sudden surge of his impending release hammered with the throb of his dentes in his mouth. Tightening his fist in her hair, he raised her mouth to his, plunging his tongue into the rapturous depths of the silken heat tinged with a coconut flavor. His hands touched her everywhere, floating over her creamy soft skin in an urgency to know her. Truly know her. This time her skin felt fevered rather than scorching. He could hear the bath water boiling in the other room. Jess had given her a tool and Stacey had taken to it like a fish to water.

Her mouth had surrendered his thick length, but her hand remained on his shaft, driving him higher. The manic search of each other’s bodies by touch never disturbed her slow circling of his rim with her fingertip. Conlon kicked his jeans free of his legs and pushed gently against her chest till she lay before him, a gift beyond measure, beautiful beyond compare. Pure desire shone from the sapphire pools of her eyes. There was an openness in her expression he’d never seen from her. Vulnerable, needy, she was giving him more than her body and silently begging him not hurt her. Or maybe she was still afraid of hurting him.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are?” His tongue followed the under-curve of her breast. Her nipple hardened to a peak in anticipation. He cupped it and lightly rubbed his thumb over the firm nipple, feeling Stacey shiver. He nipped the other nipple tenderly. Licking the sting away, he sucked it deeply into his mouth, memorizing the texture of the sensitive tissue with his tongue. Stacey’s fingers buried themselves in his hair as her back arched and she held him to her breast.

“You make me feel beautiful.” She whispered the confession. “I’ve never put much value into how I look. I still don’t. It’s how I look to
you
that holds value.”

Conlon rose and took her lips again. Were they breaking through? She’d just uttered something he knew was very personal to her. “Your beauty is more than your raven hair and stunning eyes. It comes from deep inside you. Your strength of character, the giving, compassionate nature that you hope no one will notice or acknowledge the look on your face when you hold your son or even mention his name. Beauty such as yours might not bear value per se, but the power can’t be denied either.”

“How do you see that, Conlon?” Her question held genuine wonder. Did she really not see that about herself?

“When you held that conference yesterday, you handled the business part with integrity and efficient knowledge. It was when you directed the company’s charity events and upcoming functions that your eyes lit up. I’ve never witnessed such beauty before. Then you held Johnny in your arms … I was struck fucking dumb.” He’d just shared the moment he knew he loved her.

The swirling scent of her arousal beckoned him lower. Her quick intake of breath when his tongue slid between her folds added to her rich taste and sent molten lava through his bloodstream. Colors bloomed behind his eyelids while she moaned and thrashed beneath his hungry mouth. Her core oozed with a need he couldn’t deny. He slipped his finger deep inside her, feeling her inner walls burn as they grasped it desperately while he lapped and suckled the tender bundle of nerves. Her reactions directing his movements, he aligned his mind to achieving her pleasure. Her back arched seductively; a long, kitten-like adorable roar announced her crest. He dove in with new purpose and she shattered. Long, elegant fingers held his head to her core. Her inner walls pulsed and pulled his finger deeper toward her womb. The look of ecstasy on her face was absolutely magnificent. He languished in every drop of her release.

Rising above her, he placed his tip at her pulsing core. Stacey’s hand grasped his ass pulling him into her. Conlon cried out as he reached her heated core. She moved fluidly with his thrusts, matching his passion with hers. This female owned him body, heart and soul. He gave himself over to the pleasure of her body completely, surrendering to the waves of euphoria she created in him. The building of pressure in his groin made his muscles tense in anticipation. He caught himself about to strike into the hard, pounding pulse of her neck. The need to bloodmate, taste her blood, merge eternally with her rocked the self-control he’d always taken pride in. With her kitten-like roar, a sound he would love for all time, her inner wall gripped him with pleasure/pain, milking him, throbbing against him, searing his soul. His orgasm rolled through him with an intensity that stunned him; exploding out of him, his seed jetted into her.