The Stone Warriors: Damian (34 page)

She pulled the remains of her blouse down her arms and tossed the ruined garment onto the floor. She managed to unhook the front clasp on her bra, but when she went to slide it down her arms, she couldn’t suppress a soft cry of pain.

Damian spun instantly and was at her side a moment later.

“It’s okay,” she said, raising a hand to forestall him. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”

He went to his knees in front of her, stroking a hand over her head and through her hair. “Let me help you, Cassandra. I know you don’t want me here, but—”

“You’re wrong,” she said softly. “I do want you here. There’s no one else I can trust. No one else I’d want.” She grasped his arm. “Will you shower with me? I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

His head came up, his eyes meeting hers in surprise. “Of course. I’m here for you.”

She nodded, then dug her fingers in where she was touching his arm. “It’ll be easier to get these jeans off if I stand.”

He remained on his knees, bracing her effortlessly as she stood, then helped her unbutton her jeans and slide them down her legs, cursing when he saw the bruising on her hip, when the pain brought tears to her eyes.

“By the gods, Cassandra, what did he do to you?”

She shook her head. “Sotiris never touched me. He left that to his creepy sidekick. Luckily, he didn’t have much time. He knocked me around, but some of this is from me trying to get out of that house.”

He hooked his thumbs in her plain cotton panties and pulled those down, too, so that she stood naked in front of him.

“Hey,” she said half-joking. “No fair. You’re still wearing clothes.”

“Not for long,” he muttered, then swung her into his arms with the effortless strength that made her belly heat with lust despite her injuries.

He carried her into the bathroom and set her on her feet in front of the open shower door. Reaching inside, he checked the water temperature, grunting in satisfaction.

“Can you stand on your own?” he asked. “Just long enough for me to take these off?” He gestured at his jeans.

She looked at the shower, with its soft rainfall showerhead and enticing steam. “I can manage.” He held her hand until she was under the water, welcoming the sting of her various cuts and scrapes, the warmth sinking into her bruises. A moment later, he was in there with her, his big hands so careful as he soaped away the dirt and grime, his fingers massaging her scalp as he shampooed the smoke and soot from her hair.

She leaned back against his chest. “You should do this for a living,” she murmured, feeling so much better than she had any right to expect after such a harrowing day.

He lifted the handheld shower attachment and rinsed her hair thoroughly. “You’re going to be sore in the morning.”

“How is that different from how I feel now?” she asked, twisting to see his face.

That finally got a smile out of him. “I see your point.” He reached around her and turned off the water, then wrapped her in one of the big towels and dried her carefully. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“Are you planning to take advantage of me?” she asked, so tired that she felt almost drunk. Which was the only explanation she could come up with for saying such a stupid thing.

“No,” he said calmly. “I don’t do that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Shh. I know. Come on, sweetheart.” He didn’t swoop her up this time, but simply guided her out of the bathroom and over to the bed. He’d already pulled the covers back at some point; she didn’t remember when. But it was sheer heaven to slide between the fresh, clean sheets and close her eyes. His muted footsteps walked away from her and her eyes snapped open.

“Where are you going?”

“To dry off. I don’t want to get the bed wet.”

“Oh.” Her eyes drifted closed. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, the bed dipped and his heat seared her back a moment before he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her into the protective curve of his body. She felt the tears start, and told herself it was exhaustion. But that was a lie. She loved him. She didn’t know how or when it had happened, but it had. She loved him, and it was going to hurt like hell when he walked away.

CASEY WOKE THE next morning to Damian’s arm heavy over her hip, his heat at her back. And that wasn’t the only thing she could feel at her back. His erection was a hard length against her ass, and they were both naked. She lay perfectly still, grateful that he was still sound asleep, his breathing slow and steady, his chest moving in rhythm. She closed her eyes and sorted through it all—everything that had happened yesterday and last night, what Nick had told her, what Damian had done. And how good, how right, it felt to wake up in his arms. Maybe it made her weak to need him the way she did, but where was it written that she had to be alone to be strong? Even if it only lasted a little while.

She wiggled her ass just a little bit, flexing the glutes she worked so hard to keep firm and strong, and was rewarded with a hitch in his breathing, a slight tightening of his fingers on her hip. She reached back and stroked his bare thigh, pushing her ass back to rub against his cock.

“Cassandra,” he said, sounding almost breathless. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

She smiled. He thought she was assaulting him in her sleep, and he was too much a gentleman to take advantage. Maybe he was one of the good guys, after all.

“I
am
awake,” she said, digging her nails into his ass and pulling him closer.

He slid his hand down to her belly, caressing gently. “Baby,” he said quietly. “You’re still injured. We shouldn’t—”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I thought I was going to die in that basement,” she said fiercely. “I thought about . . .” She sucked in a breath. Telling him what, or who, had filled her thoughts would cut too close to the bone. So, she lifted his hand and sucked his finger into her mouth, twirling her tongue around it sensuously before biting down just short of drawing blood.

“Fuck,” he swore breathlessly.

“That’s the idea, big guy.”

“Are you cert—”

“Damian. Shut up and fuck me.”

He pressed his face into her neck with a rumbling growl, then closed his teeth over the joint between her neck and shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark, before laving the spot with his tongue. His big hand slid down to grip her thigh, his fingers closing around it as he shoved it forward, baring her pussy to his cock. He toyed with her first, sliding the thick shaft between the swollen folds of her sex, the tip of his erection barely dipping into her opening.

“You’re already wet,” he murmured, his breath shivering over the delicate skin of her neck. “Were you dreaming of me, Cassandra?”

She would have answered, but he gripped his cock in that moment and with a single flex of his hips thrust deep inside her, gliding easily on the plentiful cream of her arousal. She blushed, almost embarrassed at how wet she was, at how much it told him about her. How badly she wanted him, how easily he turned her into a needy, wanton
thing
. But all she could do was moan and hope he wouldn’t stop.

“I love fucking you,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated in the marrow of her bones, as his cock thrust slowly in and out. “I love your luscious breasts”—he cupped both of her breasts in one hand, squeezing first one, then the other, rubbing her nipples into tight buds—“your round ass. And, most of all, Cassandra”—his voice went even deeper as his fingers smoothed over her belly and down between her thighs—“I love your cunt, so tight and wet, the way it grips my cock when you come, squeezing so hard that I can barely move.”

She almost came right then, her pussy trembling around his shaft, her clit swollen and begging for his touch as he teased her, his fingers gliding through her slick folds, circling the sensitive nub, barely grazing it before drifting away, until she wanted to scream.

“Damian,” she whispered, half plea and half demand.

“Sssh,” he soothed, nibbling the smooth skin of her shoulder, kissing the still-tender wound where she’d been shot. “What do you want, sweetheart? What do you need?”

“I need—” She groaned as the rough skin of his thumb stroked directly over her clit. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “I need your cock—”

“You have my cock,” he murmured, thrusting harder, once quickly in and out, before resuming his long, slow, tortuous, glide.

She hiccupped a breath as her womb contracted, a sharp stab of pleasure that pierced her breasts, her pussy, leaving every inch of her begging for his touch. “I need to come,” she said, hearing the pleading in her voice. She wanted to take it back, to deny that hint of vulnerability, but even more than that, she wanted to climax. Her entire body was throbbing in time to her pulsing clit, every ounce of awareness focused on that little bundle of nerves as his thumb circled closer and closer.

“Is this what you want?” His whisper was harsh against her ear, a moment before his thumb scraped over her clit and stayed there, crushing it, as shockwaves of erotic pleasure overwhelmed everything but her need to
feel . . .
his cock hard and thick, stabbing between her thighs; her inner muscles contracting around him, scraping along his length to the point of pain; her nipples engorged with blood, aching as his fingers pinched and squeezed. She threw her head back against his shoulder, twisting her neck, wanting his kiss. His mouth slammed down on hers, teeth clashing, tearing her lips with the violence of their meeting as he ravaged her mouth the same way his cock was ravaging her sex. It seemed to go on forever, waves of pleasure swamping her with sensation, while Damian held her tight, his hips the only thing moving, pistoning against her ass until finally, his fingers dug into her belly and he held her still while his cock bucked deep inside her, filling her with heat.

DAMIAN’S HEART WAS thundering in his chest, his blood pounding so loud that every pulse hammered in his eardrums, making it difficult to hear Cassandra’s soft cries, her straining breaths. And he wanted to hear her pleas for release, her shocked gasps of pain, her cries of delight. Her pussy was still pulsing around his cock, her inner muscles still gripping him tightly as if not ready to let him go. He waited, holding her until the climax finally released her, until her muscles grew lax, and her breathing evened out. And then he held her a moment longer, just because he could.

He didn’t understand yet why she had such a hold on him. Why this one woman, among the hundreds he’d bedded? How his fellow warriors would laugh if they could see him. He, who’d had more women than all of them combined, who’d been famous as much for his feelings, or his lack thereof, as for his conquests. He’d thought at first it was some perversion of gratitude that he was feeling toward her, because she’d been the one to free him from his long imprisonment. But then he’d gotten to know her, her courage and her intellect, the fierce loyalty she felt for Nico and the other hunters, the vulnerability that she worked so hard to hide.

She’d been the first woman he’d ever told, the first
person
he’d ever told, the truth of his making at Nico’s hands. That he was a creation of sun and shadow, not a real man at all. There had always been a part of him when he’d been young, the frightened child who hid deep in his soul, who’d feared what would happen if he displeased Nico. What if Nico grew strong enough that he didn’t need a protector anymore? Or what if he simply grew tired of Damian? Could he be made to disappear as readily as he’d appeared?

As the years passed and their friendship grew, he no longer worried about Nico discarding him, but he still wondered about his own humanity, about the fact that he’d fathered no children, and about his own mortality. He began to wonder if he would die, if he could. What did death mean to someone like him? There were stories of rewards for warriors who died in battle, of peaceful gardens and beautiful women. If he died, would he go to such a place? Or would he simply return to the sun and shadows of his creation, to nothingness?

And then, somewhere in the millennia of his captivity, Damian had moved beyond even that. Death, no matter what face it wore, held no fear for him anymore. The definition of life,
his
life had become unimportant. Until he’d met Cassandra, and he’d had to face a terrifying truth. He loved her. What
she
thought mattered. He needed
her
to see him as a fully-fleshed man, not some phantasm of Nico’s creation.

He swallowed a sigh. Oh, sure, she’d wanted to fuck him this morning. She’d come close to dying yesterday—a thought that still had the power to stop his heart—and he knew better than most how a brush with death could make you want to embrace the pulse-pounding eroticism of sex and know you were
alive.
But that didn’t erase the fact that, just yesterday, she’d gathered her things and left their room without so much as a note of good-bye.

She slapped his thigh, startling him out of his thoughts. “You’re thinking too hard. I can hear the gears turning.”

“Am I?

“Look,” she said, rolling to face him. She winced in pain, and he automatically soothed his hands over her. “I’m okay,” she said, patting his chest. “Just sore . . . really sore. But nothing a bottle or two of ibuprofen won’t take care of.”

He stroked a careful hand over her head and down along her spine, fingers sliding through the silk of her hair, as her breathing eased. “Better?”

She nodded. “But, Damian—”

He waited for her to tell him that none of what they’d done this morning mattered, that he was nothing but a convenient fuck, just as he’d been to all of the women he’d bedded before, as, frankly, they’d been to him. Cassandra was different, but was he the only one who felt it?

“—look, I’m sorry.”

What?

“I shouldn’t have run out of here yesterday the way I did.”

“You had your reasons,” he offered and wondered why the hell he was making this easy for her.

“I know, but I should have talked to you about it instead of running away. I’m sure Nick’s told you by now about my ex, and probably my father, too. Nick’s very big on examining everyone else’s trauma, while ignoring his own fucked-up psyche. But anyway, I know you guys are close, so he’s probably warned you about me.”