Legend of Michael (22 page)

“Amazing,” she whispered. “Just amazing.”

They walked to the left and took another conveyor that led to a tunneled walkway branching left and right. They turned right to a row of doors and stopped at the very end. “This is me,” Michael said, punching in a code and opening the door. He then stepped back and leaned his arm over the door seal. “What’s mine is yours. I think you know that. I’ll come early in the morning, and we’ll get you a phone line to your father, code it to make it look like it’s coming from your cell phone. I’ll bring you some clothes, too.”

She tilted her chin up, stood close, almost touching. “You don’t seriously think you’re leaving me tonight?” she asked. “Do you?”

“I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself if I come in that door,” he said hoarsely. “I can barely keep from doing so now.”

“Then don’t.”

“You heard what the doctor said,” he argued. “If we—”

She wrapped her arms around him and stared up at him. “You aren’t leaving me tonight.”

Chapter 21

“What the hell went on out there, Lucian?” Adam thundered, charging into the Zodius City hospital where Lucian was placing a soldier on a bed—one of a dozen injured by the Renegades.

“Michael happened,” he said, ready for this confrontation. “And he sent you a message. ‘Fuck off.’ That was right before he took down three of our men with Green Hornets.”

Adam all but roared, his face red, eyes half bugging out. “Which he got from where?”

Ava’s voice shouted from nearby. “Hurry! Get her to the doctor!” Adam stepped inside the doorway as Tad appeared behind him, a female in his arms, rushing her to the care of a doctor.

Ava scanned the room and pointed at one of the injured soldiers. “Him!” she yelled at the doctor. “He is her Lifebond. Save him, or she will die.” She whirled on Lucian, fury in her eyes as she protectively hovered near the female. Tad stood behind her as if he were her guardian. “What have you done, Lucian? Never have we come back from battle with injuries like these. If her male dies, so does she, and so does our chance of breeding them! Already we struggle to replace the lost females.”

Tad settled his hands on his hips. “Looks like your contact double-crossed you and sold Green Hornets to us and the Renegades,” he said snidely.

“He didn’t need Brock West,” Lucian said. “He has Cassandra Powell, his Lifebond.” He cut his attention to Ava. “He wind-walked her to safety.”

“Then he did not care if she lived or died,” Tad declared quickly.

“If there is even a slight chance they are Lifebonds,” Ava said, “we cannot risk killing her, Adam. We need the Lifebonds too badly. Michael is powerful. His children would be powerful. With Red Dart you will control him and his offspring.” She smiled. “Think of the many ways you might torture Michael with both him and his Lifebond in captivity. You can hurt her without killing her. It would be fun. We can do it together.”

Adam cast his Lifebond a half-veiled stare. “Perhaps I should go get him myself. Be done with all of this.”

“No!” Ava insisted, pressing his hand to her belly. “You risk my life and our child’s.” She eyed Lucian. “If Lucian cannot get the job done this time, then we’ll let Tad try.”

Lucian ground his teeth. He was really beginning to hate that bitch.

***

Cassandra hugged Michael close, refusing to allow him to leave. He stared down at her with turbulent, dark eyes, tormented, hungry—full of passion. And then he kissed her. And it was a kiss that stole her breath, a kiss that made her want to laugh and cry all in one moment.

Michael walked her backwards into the room, kicking the door shut, and turning the dimmer knob on the wall to illuminate the room. But Cassandra didn’t care about the room or about the hell outside the room. Not now. All she cared about was Michael, the man, the moment, the kiss.

He tangled his fingers through her weather-tossed hair, kissed her as if he had never kissed her before, as if he would never kiss her again. Need blossomed inside her, more need than she’d ever thought it possible to feel for another human being. Her hand pressed beneath his T-shirt, skimming hard muscle and warm, taut skin. He reached up and tugged the shirt over his head. Before it ever hit the ground, her fingers were entwined in his chest hair, tracing the lines of his defined pecs. He kissed her again, a long, drugging, perfect kiss that brought her to her toes. Her tongue caressed his with soft, hungry licks. A kiss that deepened as his hands bared her waist, calloused fingers rasping against delicate skin with the promise of pleasure that left her shirt on the floor next to his.

Too soon he tore his mouth from hers, his breathing as erratic and wild as her own, and led her into the efficiency-style apartment.

Cassandra scanned the room as they walked. A granite bar framed the small kitchen overlooking a massive open room, the front half the living area with a couch and two chairs and a big-screen television. There was a bedroom toward the back with a king-sized bed and a black leather headboard. There were no pictures anywhere. No personal items. Nothing that said—this was Michael’s
home.
Was that because he’d lived in Zodius Nation? Or because emptiness was all he allowed himself? Her heart ached at that thought. She didn’t want that for him; she didn’t want that for either of them.

They crossed the expanse of the living area and stopped beside the bed, facing one another. Michael released her hand, and they stood there in silent communication, in understanding of a decision between them that was profoundly important.

This was the first time since they’d found each other again that they would decisively choose to get into that bed together, rather than allow passion and emotion to drive them there. It was a signal of acceptance between them, of at least trying to find a way over the walls that always rose between them. And yes, there was a chance it could bind them together; they both knew this. Or rather knew the risk of going forward with so many unknowns, so many possibilities about their bond that they didn’t understand.

“I can still walk out that door,” he said softly. “This doesn’t have to happen.”

She reached up and unhooked her bra, tossing it to the side. “Or you can stay.”

For an instant, his gaze held hers before skimming downward in a slow, deliberate inspection of her breasts, stark passion etched in his face. Her nipples tightened, pleasure stealing a path from the tips straight to her core. “You have the most beautiful nipples I’ve ever seen,” he murmured softly.

Instant, wet heat clung to her panties. He’d always said bold things to her, things that made her blush, things that aroused her in a deep way, and now was no exception. “And you,” she said, “have on too many clothes.” Her voice was gravelly with passion, unfamiliar to her own ears.

In response, he unsnapped his jeans. She reached for hers as well, and a frenzy of undressing began. Excitement coursed through her veins, her hands trembling from the intensity. Like the first time they’d been together. Her mind went there now, retraced the path that had brought them here tonight.

Cassandra finished undressing, willing her heart to stop racing, like a schoolgirl on a first date. No one had ever excited her in this way—no one but Michael.

As they faced one another again she admired his body. He was a work of art, the ultimate man in her eyes, rippling muscle and masculine perfection. Her lips parted at the sight of his jutting thick erection; her breath lodged in her throat at the erotic thought of once again having him inside her.

She closed the distance between them, wrapping her hand around the width of him, her eyes meeting his, her free hand going to his chest. He pulsed in her hand, hard, inflexible, veins protruding. “God, I’ve missed touching you like this,” she confessed.

“My restraint is paper thin,” he warned.

Her lips twitched. “Ah, now,” she teased, leaning closer, her breasts pressed to his side, his arms wrapping around her waist as she flattened her tongue on his nipple. “I’m quite confident of your restraint.” She tightened her grip on his cock, and then caressed it with her fingers, stroking the wet liquid tip and sliding it around… kissing his shoulder, his arm.

She pinned him in a seductive stare full of erotic promise and then slowly slid down his body until she was on her knees. Watched the anticipation shudder across his strong features as she made one long lap of her tongue across the bulging head of his penis and then drew it between her lips. She sucked him deeper, harder, the salty-sweet taste of him filling her mouth. She loved the pleasure it represented, the proof that she was stealing just a little of his control. Her free hand went to his thigh, and she could feel him shaking, shaking. Michael was shaking, vulnerable in a way she knew he didn’t allow himself to be at any other time.

And she remembered why she loved this so much—because when she drew him into her mouth, when she was on her knees before him, that was the only time Michael ever allowed himself to really take anything. The only time he ever let go and forgot to hold back.

And so she made sure he didn’t hold back, working him with her mouth, her hand, her tongue. Remembering what made him hot… what drove him wild. His fingers tangled in her hair, a moan escaping his lips, the sound washing over Cassandra like an aphrodisiac, driving her to give more, take more. His hips thrust as she pumped him, his cock sliding back and forth between her lips. She could feel the pulse of his impending orgasm gathering beneath her hand and feel the urgency in the convulsing of his hips. But he didn’t let her take him all the way; his hands went to her shoulders, demanding that she stop. He grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet.

“When I come,” he said, “it will be inside you.” With the words, he gently lowered her to the bed, went down on his knees at the edge of the mattress, and spread her wide. She rested on her elbows, watching him. His hands trailed up her legs, caressed a slow, teasing path that told her of his intentions.

She fell back on the mattress the instant his warm breath brushed her clit, his tongue sliding delicately around the tip before he gently suckled. It was Cassandra’s turn to cry out as he drew her more fully into his mouth, his fingers stroking along the slick, swollen flesh and then slipping inside her. Her hands grabbed at the surprisingly soft fabric of the comforter, eyes fluttering with the sensation of every lick, stroke, and suckle. At the same time, he stretched to palm her breasts, teasing her nipples.

He gave her everything she could possibly desire, except him inside her. Yes, she so needed him inside her. Whimpering, she felt the flush of orgasm and fought against it. With a Herculean effort, she sat up and tried to move away. He grasped her thighs, held her firmly, stared up at her from that intimate spot between her thighs that only made her ache a little bit more.

“Together,” she whispered. “Please. I really want that.” She pressed her hands to his shoulders. “You lie down.” There was something inside her that said he needed to know in as many ways as possible that this was a choice, being with him, a thought-out decision. There was passion, there was desire, but this wasn’t a mad rush of passion overcoming indecision.

His eyes softened and then flared with newfound heat before he rolled to his back. Cassandra wasted no time straddling him, the wet core of her body pressed to his stomach while she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his.

Possessively, he filled his hands with her breasts and then caressed a path down her waist, holding her steady as she reached between them and found his erection. Their eyes held as she slid the tip to the seam of her body, slipping it past her swollen, sensitive feminine lips. Her breath lodged in her throat at the feel of him inside her as her body swallowed the hard edges of his erection. One slow inch at a time, she slid down the hard, hot length of him, until they were one, merged.

They stared at one another, emotions, passion, a web that captured them and would not let go. He moved suddenly, pulling her lips to his, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, his tongue stroking hers. Slowly, they began to move, hips swaying in a sensual rhythm that sent splayed pleasure to every nerve ending of her body. The kisses shifted from tender to desperate—passionate, wildly out of control. Michael sat up with her, wrapped his arms around her back, rocked with her in this slow, tilting motion that drove her insane. Their lips were close, breath mingled.

Abruptly, he stopped moving, his fingers brushing the hair from her eyes. “I love you, Cassandra,” he said. “I love you so damn much.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her skin tingled. Those were the words she had longed to hear. The words she needed as much as she needed her next breath. “I love you too, Michael. Even when I told myself to hate you, I knew I loved you.”

His hand framed her face. “There are things about me you don’t know,” he said. “Things I can’t, I won’t, ask you to live with.”

“Stop, Michael,” she whispered, her hands framing his face. “Stop judging yourself and then assuming it’s what I feel too. Have you ever done anything that you didn’t believe was to save innocent lives? Anything you regretted later?”

“It’s not that simple,” he whispered. “Baby, it’s not.”

“I know you, Michael,” she whispered and kissed him before he declared otherwise.

He tasted of rich masculine spice, devouring her mouth with his. His cock began to stroke the sensitive flesh between her legs. They were lost then, forgetting what had brought them there, what might tear them apart. His big hands powerfully explored her body, touched her in ways no other could. His fingers played with her nipples, tugged in a delicious, rough way that made her cry out and buck against him at the same moment. Made her nip his lips with her teeth and kiss a path to his shoulder. She could not touch enough of him, could not taste enough of him, could not get him deep enough or hard enough. There would never be enough. Part of her yearned to push him back against the mattress, then ride him wildly, take more of him. Take control. But that meant letting go; that meant those strong arms wouldn’t cradle her anymore and that was simply not an option.

Instead, she clung to him—with her lips, her arms, her hips. If it could have lasted forever, still it would not have been long enough. Too soon, tension coiled in her stomach, too soon, it spiraled into spasms that milked his cock and left her gasping for air, her face buried in his neck. His grip tightened around her waist, a guttural moan sliding from his lips a moment before she felt his seed spill inside her. They stayed there for long seconds, merged together, as if both were afraid of losing the moment, of losing each other.