The Bastard (16 page)

The weave of his thermal was butter-soft as she fisted it, yanking it up his back, needing to feel his skin. He let her pull the thermal off and, oh my, what beautiful skin it was. The bedroom curtains were open and frosty moonlight poured through, bathing the room in an icy glow. His skin took a bluish cast, more ethereal mist than living flesh. Her fingers played along the swells of his biceps, gliding over the axe and sword tattoo. A Celtic band wrapped around the other arm, a two-inch wide rope of twisting knots that flexed as he leaned over her.

She splayed her hands, halting him, enjoying her limited view. A knowing grin curled his lip and he laid back, holding her palm to his heart in wordless permission.

Her heart thrummed a fast beat and wet heat pulsed between her thighs. Sculpted lines called to her hands and she obeyed, learning the contours of his body. The thinnest patch of crisp hairs peppered the center of his chest and trailed downward in a narrowing line. Lacy let her fingers spread through it, feeling his warmth along the planes of muscles. Small flat nipples puckered at her touch. She traced one with her nail and a growl vibrated his chest. He liked that, so she did it again.

“Your hands feel incredible.”

An impish smile curved her mouth. “Kneading bread makes them strong.”

There wasn’t an ounce of wasted flesh on him. The rock-hard ridges in his stomach jumped as she followed that thinning line down to his navel. It was hard to breathe, the hunger, the desperate need to lose herself in his arms, to make him scream her name, tightened like a steel band around her. Power filled her. Around his ribs, over his shoulders, along his belly, she explored and caressed, first with her hands and then with her mouth.

“God, yes. Use your tongue.”

Sea salt, he tasted of spicy man and tangy sea salt. His hands buried in her hair as she licked across his stomach and delved into his navel. He held his breath when she popped the button on his jeans.

A groan peeled from his throat as he tugged her up and rolled her to her back. His visual caress stroked like a fingertip. Her heart fluttered as he crawled over her, like an animal, all supple grace and control. His mouth covered hers, marking his territory. Sharp teeth nipped her; her shoulder, her breast, her stomach, her navel. Never enough to sting, never enough to mark, just enough to tingle and make her very aware that she lay beneath a man of power and authority. Following his teeth came his tongue, swirling, tasting, turning her bones to liquid.

The silk-soft fall of his hair grazed her hip as he nuzzled her bikini line, his warm breath teasing her skin until gooseflesh broke along her belly. That heat was a promise of more to come. She desperately wanted more.

“Open for me, Lace. Let me see you.” Rough hands skated up her thighs, parted them and stroked the revealed slickness. “You’re so wet. I need to taste you.”

Erik didn’t lie. He wasn’t gentle but Lacy was too hungry for gentleness. Mindless pleasure rolled when he lowered his head and licked up the seam of her pussy. He lapped her clit, circling and flicking it until it beaded tight. Every cell in her body drew taut and her thighs quivered. Erik backed off, squeezing her butt and running the tip of his tongue along her folds in a slow trek.

Strong fingers penetrated deep, curling inside her and rocking against a sweet spot that snapped her head back to the pillow. Her hips vaulted closer to his mouth. He gave her no leeway, his fingers plunging hard inside her, his lips a tight seal around her sex. The driving rhythm sped her toward oblivion with hurricane speed. He took her to the very brink then backed off. Lacy bit her lip against begging. Broad, long licks kept her hovering somewhere between crazy and frantic, in that luscious middle ground.

A whimper threatened when he pulled his mouth away until a third finger stretched her with a delicious burn. She hissed, riding that fine edge of pleasure and pain. His thumb slid up, rubbing across her clit in slow, maddening circles. A coil wound inside her, every muscle tensing for the release he refused to give her.

“Want to come for me, Lace?”

“Erik, please.”

“What do you want? This?” A fast thrust and feathering swoop of his thumb drew her need tighter. Orgasm hovered just out of reach.

“Or do you want this?”

His mouth fastened on her aching cleft and sent jolts of lightning up her spine. Rapid tongue flutters darted over her aching clit then he nipped it, drawing it between his lips. Sensation took over. Climax burst in an explosion and shattered into a thousand splinters.

Erik sucked hard, drawing it out, pushing deeper into oblivion. Lacy was beyond screaming, beyond calling his name, could do nothing but succumb to the waves. She fisted her hands in the sheet and let it consume her.

Aftershocks rippled through her for an eternity. Bones limp, gasping for air and blinking against the lingering stars, Lacy reached for him. Undiluted longing carved his face into a stony slab of gritted jaw and burning eyes. He ripped open his jeans and shoved them low on his hips.

Lacy swallowed a dry gulp. “Condom.”

He halted a fraction then leaned over her, jerking the nightstand drawer open. He pressed a packet into her hand. A gravelly decadence warmed his tone. “Do it, Lace. Put it on me so I can be —” he slipped two fingers between her legs and pressed inside her, “here.”

Her body clenched around his hand. She tugged his jeans lower. A bulge pushed at his underwear, straining outward. A darkened line was barely visible in the dim room and she inched the fabric down. He had a third tattoo. Far below his navel was a slanted swastika. Her fingers stopped.

“It’s not Nazi,” he whispered. “It’s a Fylfot, a Norse fire twirl. It’s for luck.”

Tracing the Fylfot, she marveled. It was luck that brought him into her life.

She shoved the underwear down. His cock sprang free, hard and weighted. His head fell back as she circled the length with her palm and stroked. Now she knew why he’d pushed her with three fingers. Thick and heavily veined, his shaft twitched as she swiped her thumb over the tip, spreading the sticky drop clinging there across him. She wanted to lick along the broad head but that would have to wait. She needed too much. The wrapper tore almost soundlessly. The latex stretched thin as she rolled the condom down.

He didn’t bother removing his jeans. The rough denim and sharp zipper bit into her thighs as he angled over her, into her, with one fluid move. She sucked in a breath. He was everything she craved and more. With his weight on his elbows, he rolled his hips, not thrusting, just pressing hard, firm and deep. His pulse throbbed inside her. It kept perfect time with her own. Their eyes locked, never blinking, as they reveled in the connection that seemed more than physical.

Erik shifted, lifting her ass, planting himself deeper. Her pussy tightened around him and his eyes slid closed. “Do that again.”

She did and kept doing it. A harsh noise echoed in his chest as he pushed up on his arms, withdrew and drove home, rocking over her clit. She pulled him closer, her palms gliding up his spine. Iron muscles undulated under her hands and his skin grew slick. The sparse hair on his chest scratched into her skin, a lusciously intimate sensation.

Time had no meaning. It was just him, her and them filling the night with murmurs, moans and magic of the sexual variety. Breaths mingled, bodies caressed, bonds formed. She met his every thrust, answered every kiss. One huge hand fisted in her hair. His tongue sought hers, found it waiting, and licked each crevice of her mouth. Every time he delved deep, he ground against her clit, tweaking the tiny knot.

Climax boiled, beckoning her, taunting her. He filled her over and over, hips crashing into hips, flesh meeting flesh, until his name pealed in a staggered breath. “Erik.”

He stopped. A purely masculine grin beamed down at her. “Ride it out, babe. I want it to be good for you.”

“Please.” It was so good she wanted to cry already. She bowed up in need. “You’re good for me.”

“No, I’m not,” he whispered, his eyes melting to silver sadness.

Something changed. Hanging by a thin erotic thread, the mood shifted to something softer, something deeper, something solemn. He held her at the very tip-top, pressing firm, but didn’t move, didn’t nudge her over that edge. His fingers combed through her hair, stroked her cheek with a gentleness that reached into her bones. A strange longing filled his face and she ached to erase it.

Cupping his cheeks in her palms, she dotted light, feathery kisses over his face. Her lips touched the corners of his eyes, his temples, the shadow of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He pressed against her mouth as it skimmed his forehead. His breath warmed her shoulder. “What are you doing to me, Lace?”

She barely heard her own whisper. “Loving you.”

“Oh fuck.”

A shudder worked his shoulders as his control fractured and his hips slammed hard, catapulting her over the edge. Reality vanished and she was falling through time and space, clinging to him, her anchor in the intense sea. Erik never stopped, fucking her with powerful strokes until he threw his head back, gritted his teeth and joined her in the dive. Never once did he let go, and at the bottom, where exhaustion and dreams lay, he caught her.

Chapter Nine

“No, Annie. There has to be a better option.”

Vike scowled as Lacy paced the common room, his cell clutched in her white-knuckled hand, arm tucked around her middle.

“Did you try Marty’s neighbor? He owns a — oh, none? What about that newer place over on Hollingsworth Drive?... Ouch, for a one bedroom? Is it lined in gold?”

At the pinball machine, Rex turned his head, clearly eavesdropping.

“No, I understand… I don’t know. It’s going to be a while. Erik and the team are trying but that preacher’s people are like Jell-O, hard to pin down.”

Vike bit his tongue. Actually, once they found the Third, pinning them down was just a matter of driving a blade into their chest. Nothing hard about it.

“But Annie, Milton Road? All the druggies hang out down there… Of course, I know you’re an adult. I’m just worried about you… All right, all right. If that’s what you have to do, I understand.”

“Hey.” Rex nudged Vike’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Annie’s having some trouble finding a place she can afford without Lacy’s income. Lacy doesn’t
have
an income right now. And she won’t take a loan, I tried.”

Lacy’s brows were drawn hard to the center as she chewed her thumbnail. He could read the guilt written across her expression and it gnawed at him. She said her goodbyes and clicked the phone off.

He sprang from the couch. “You okay?”

Running her fingers through her hair, she shrugged. “Yeah, I just don’t like that area she’s moving to, but she has no choice. She’s been camping out at the EMS building and with friends, but she can’t keep doing that forever. It’s been two weeks. Neither of us can afford a nicer place without the other’s salaries, but I don’t know when I can help her.”

Rex strolled into the kitchen, and Lacy dropped to a whisper. “It’s not just rent. We lost everything. She’s starting from scratch because of me.”

“Lace, just let me give you the money.” Vike rubbed her arms, unsure how to make her accept. He’d never had any woman refuse gold before. Granted, this wasn’t gold but green.

Her shoulders squared. “No. It’s too much like prostitution for me. You’ve bought me so much already.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell her he’d had no problem with prostitution. Instead, he stroked her cheek. “So we’ll figure out a repayment thing for later, when this whole mess is over. You need the cash now.”

“Back off, dude, we got this covered.”

Dray carried his plate, still finishing his waffles. Omen had traces of sausage gravy along his snout and licked his chops. Nomad had three biscuits in his hand. Myth carried his tea mug and rounded out the group. The men settled into the sectional sofa as authority pulled Rex’s shoulders back. Though not quite six foot, the regal stature made him look invincible. He could easily have been a politician addressing Congress or a lawyer facing a jury.

“We’re nosy, we overheard, and we have a solution. The four of us want to hire Lacy. Job’s temporary and under the table, paid in cash every week.”

Myth blew across his cup rim and never raised his eyes. “Apartments cleaned, breakfast and dinner daily, common areas maintained in exchange for a fair salary.”

“I fucking hate laundry. I’m in for just that.” Nomad tossed half a biscuit to the dog. Omen lunged, caught it and inhaled it without chewing.

“Do you know how to make jambalaya?” Dray shoved a huge fork of syrup-dripping waffle into his mouth.

Lacy’s eyes were bright as she bit back a smile. “Only if you like it super spicy, with Andouille sausage, peppers and spiced shrimp.”

His head snapped toward Rex. “I’ll pay double.”

“Wait.” Lacy held her hand up. “I appreciate what you all are trying to do but I don’t mind—”

“We mind.” Omen nosed Nomad’s leg for the last biscuit. “Get away, buttsniffer, this is mine. Look, I don’t like owing anybody shit. Take the job or quit cooking.”

Dray looked horrified. “Please take the job.”

Gratitude ached in Vike’s throat. These men, these hated warriors, the pariahs of history, were offering her their charity hidden behind domesticity. Not a one believed she couldn’t see through the lie.

“Please, Lacy.” Rex employed every drop of his debonair charm. He took her hand and brought it to his chest. “We’re not allowed to own slaves anymore and yet, we’re selfish sons of bitches. Let us keep using you.”

“You guys are the sweetest things.” Tears broke through her voice, but didn’t fall from her lashes. “Okay. Thanks. I take dinner requests, you know. If any of you have a favorite meal or—”

“Lamb stew,” Myth piped. “With heavy tomato cream, turnips, leeks.”

“I’ll eat anything.” More waffles disappeared as Dray chewed.

“I don’t give two gerbil fucks about food, but don’t use any starch in my shorts.” Nomad scratched at his hip.