Catching Red (14 page)

Her body jerked. Her slim legs fell alongside his body. He could feel her feet curl against the back of his calves. When he reached his hand down and slid his fingers underneath her panties, he found her slick and wet.

He searched her folds with his forefinger—purposefully avoiding her clit. She made a frustrated sound. Patience wasn’t one of Red’s virtues.

He switched to her other breast while continuing to probe her. His torment coaxed incoherent pleas and high-pitched cries from her lips. He could feel her bared belly against his naked chest. Wherever her silky smooth skin touched his body, it created a rush of warmth that fueled his hunger. She was at his mercy, and instinct drove him to remind her of that reality.

He positioned the pad of his palm over the apex of her opening. Applying pressure, he mirrored his tongue’s circling motion. Her hips rose and fell in an urgent rhythm. The feel of her sweat-slicked body straining beneath him compounded his arousal.

She had always been wildly responsive to his slightest touch. He released her breast and heard a protesting moan. He shifted. Rising above her, he closed his hands over her forearms and pressed them into the mattress. Burying his face against her neck, he positioned his erection once more between her parted thighs.

Her slender legs rose to hug him. Two layers of cloth separated their flesh, but it didn’t seem to matter. Holding her captive, he inhaled the hint of lavender layered over her scent—it was a heady mixture, potent enough to drive away all thought. He could sense her hurtling toward the cusp of release, and her hips’ frenzied rise and fall sent blood rushing straight to his groin.

He repositioned his shaft so the ridge pressed against the slit that separated her protective folds. Then he ground it over the nub he knew was hidden within. He knew he’d found his mark when she whispered a plea. The closer Red was to orgasm, the quieter she became. He had learned to press his ear up against her throat. It allowed him to savor her spiral into oblivion no matter how desperately she tried to hide it.

“Don’t bite down too hard. I have plans for those lips.”

With those words, he ground hard and fast into her. He could feel her muscles flexing under his hands. He shifted his grip so their palms met and their fingers twined. A moment later, her blunt nails pressed almost painfully into the backs of his hands.

His teeth grazed her earlobe. Her breaths soon became sharp truncated pants. Her back arched. With his face plastered to her neck, he could feel the vibration from her muted cries.

He stopped and rolled off her.

“You jerk,” she rasped.

Chuckling, he eased her onto her side before brushing a too-gentle kiss over her temple. There was a certain satisfaction to being between a wall and Red’s shaking form.

Her entire body was tense. She clawed his chest. “You can’t seriously stop there.”

He brushed the silky mane of hair off her face before pulling the T-shirt back down to cover her torso. “I just did. Consider it payback—and that was just the interest. I plan on collecting the full amount tomorrow.”

He pulled the blanket over them and closed his eyes. Despite her pinches and scratches, he didn’t budge. She eventually huffed out a defeated breath and snuggled into him. Before long, the rise and fall of her chest became even. She was asleep.

Even though his level of sexual frustration now approached pain, he felt a sense of rightness. Whatever followed, they were together. Safe in his arms, she was finally resting. Things were the way they should be.

Scarlet woke to the delicious smell of charred venison and cooking fruit. The rusty feeling between her joints was gone. She rubbed her crusted eyes as she curled into a sitting position. For the first time in months, she felt energized and rested.

Her bed ended where the kitchen area began. Marcus stood in front of the wood-burning stove, his back facing her. Even with his neck bent and spine curved, his blond head grazed the low ceiling. He wrapped a thick cloth around his hand, lifted the cast-iron skillet, and turned in place. He plunked it down on the circular stone tray at the center of her small rickety table. Her first and only attempt at carpentry creaked but didn’t fall apart.

She lifted an eyebrow as she scrutinized the skillet’s contents—seared smoked venison covered with slices of dried apple. It was an interesting meal choice.

Perhaps in reaction to her quizzical expression, he turned his palms up and defended his creation. “The food store in your basement is a mess. This was all I could scrounge up.”

She frowned. “I packed and stacked everything in alphabetical order.”

His broad shoulders rose and fell. “Your system didn’t make any sense. You’ll have to explain it sometime. Either way, this beats the MREs I fed you during the snowstorm. Come on. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

She grabbed the worn quilt and wrapped it over her shoulders. She was about to lower her feet to the cold floor when she saw him shake his head.

He walked over to the foot of her bed. The length of his torso and arms easily spanned the small area separating the cottage’s sleeping and eating spaces. He leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the table with both hands. When he brought his elbows into his body, the piece of furniture with all its contents slid as if on wheels. It stopped a few inches away from the bottom edge of the mattress. He stepped around it, then pulled up the only chair, and sat.

Scooting over, she sniffed the food. The smell made her mouth water. “Why are you being so nice?”

“I’ve always been nice.” He used his knife to spear a piece of seared meat and raised it to his mouth.

Seated cross-legged on the bed, she wrinkled her nose. “You only did it to get me to have sex with you.”

His face was a picture of affront. “I did it because I liked you.”

She would have argued, but he was holding a knife-skewered piece of meat to her lips. With a beleaguered sigh, she caught the bite between her teeth and yanked it free.

With her mouth otherwise occupied, he was at liberty to present his case. “You were half-dead when I saved your pretty little butt. Trust me, sex was the last thing on my mind when I doused your wounds with disinfectants and pumped you full of immunoglobulin. Besides, neither of us came last night. I bet I could have taken those panties off without hearing a peep from you.”

She chewed, swallowed, and avoided eye contact. The memory sent warmth rushing to her cheeks. Twice now, she had offered him sex and been turned down.

Clearly needing to fill the silence, he continued. “Besides, I had a rule against sleeping with virgins back then. They’re way too complicated, present company included.”

Scarlet scowled. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

He gave her a beleaguered look. “Trust me. It took a lot of patience and suffering on my part.”

Chagrin and curiosity warred. The latter won out. “What suffering?”

He rose and came back with two mugs of herbal tea. She took a sip before glancing at his face. Those blue eyes gleamed with masculine possession.

Scarlet’s thoughts rocketed to the past. After she killed the stray brain-eater, her memory was a blur of roaming hands and pounding heartbeats. The sound of harsh breaths and stifled moans echoed in her ears. She could almost feel his rough palms against her bottom—his back muscles flexing against her calves as he lifted her into the air.

Forcing her attention back into the present, she pointed out, “I’m certain you very much enjoyed yourself. There was no suffering.”

He chewed a mouthful of venison with aggravating slowness. “Let’s just say it took all my self-control not to have you flat on your back the moment we were inside. As you know by now, slow and easy isn’t my style.”

She assembled a perfect bite with the tips of her fingers before popping it into her mouth. The last thing she needed was to recall all the things they did those following three days and nights. To her horror, those trysts seemed to be all she could focus on.

After she gobbled up the morsel, she diverted the conversation. “I didn’t ask to be treated like I was made out of eggshells. You did that all on your own. It’s a good thing you got over it after the first time.”

He snorted. “It’s what you needed. Trust me. I always know what’s best for you.”

She rolled her eyes. The man could be so misguided.

Her overt disbelief seemed to compel him into argument. “Your face gives your emotions away. You were eager, but you weren’t confident. You couldn’t anticipate your own responses, and it scared the hell out of you. On top of that…let’s just say it was obvious you weren’t aware of all the logistical difficulties sex entails.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. He was right. Nothing could have prepared her for the feel of him surging into her. Part of her had wanted to protest being stretched to the point of pain, but an unknown instinct filled her with certainty pleasure was just within reach. She hadn’t said a word. She hadn’t cried out or struggled. But he had known when to slow down despite her silence—when to remain still so she could adjust to his size.

That was before he lifted her off the ground, positioned her such that each thrust stimulated the bundle of nerves at the apex of her opening, and proceeded to drive all thought from her mind.

Judging from the way he was looking at her now, they had focused on the same memory. She was playing with fire. Unlike last night, her mind was clear. Rested and alert, she didn’t yearn for his touch because she wanted to lean on his strength. In this moment, desire wasn’t clouded by need. It was also more potent than it had ever been.

*

Marcus shifted on the chair in an attempt to prevent his zipper from causing permanent damage. Why the hell did he have an erection? Red looked her worst in the mornings. Her hair was bent in odd places and formed a raggedy red halo around her face. White crusts gathered her long sweeping lashes into clumps. With a blanket around her shoulders, she might as well be wearing a tent.

He should be ambivalent, not turned on. She was overdue for a long and unpleasant interrogation. But all he could do was reminisce about the past and remember how it felt to bury himself between her parted thighs. He could recall everything about that morning in vivid detail—the way her small naked body felt as he filled her, the way her breathless cries echoed around him as she begged for release.

No wonder he was getting nowhere.

“We can’t have sex until you tell me a few things about the WITCH.” It took a few moments before he realized he had said the words out loud. When he did, he felt the urge to hit his head on the table. That might have been the worst start to an interrogation in FMA history.

Red halted midchew. The corners of her lips lifted. He heard a snort of laughter followed by choking noises. Realizing what his words had just triggered, he thumped her back to dislodge the piece of meat blocking her airway. Once he was sure she’d live, he handed her the mug of tea. She gulped it and then spurted the near-boiling contents over the table.
Yes, Woodsman, kill her why don’t you?

By the time he stood, grabbed a rag, and blotted away the mess, she regained enough composure to gape at him. “That’s your strategy? From the looks of things, I don’t think you can make good on your threat.”

At first, he didn’t understand her statement. Then he followed her gaze to his groin. Whatever his body and mind were preoccupied with, his penis didn’t give a damn. It was hard as a rock. Only a blind person would miss a bulge that size.

Defeated, he dropped the rag. “This is all your fault.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Serious shit is going down. I need to talk to you about it, and I can’t focus.” This might be the truth, but a seven-year-old could have articulated it better. Red’s very presence seemed to interfere with his brain’s ability to function.

Not only did he have a permanent boner, he also couldn’t seem to stop the wrong words from tumbling out of his mouth in rapid succession. “You look like shit in the mornings. You have morning breath. There are crusts all around your eyes, and your hair is an absolute mess. I thought now would be the perfect time to interrogate you. But I still can’t seem to stop thinking about sex.”

When he heard her outraged gasp, he knew he had done himself in. A moment later, a hard lumpy pillow flew into his face. She stomped off in a huff, and the bathroom door crashed against its jamb moments later.

He marched over, leaned his back against the chilled wood, and sank to the floor. He heard the sound of splashing water and waited for it to stop. He decided this might be the best way to have their discussion. While he couldn’t string a useful sentence together in her presence, his brain seemed to work fine when he was shouting at her from another room. “The WITCH is going to be dismantled whether you cooperate or not.”

There was no response. He hadn’t expected one. “If you help me, fewer people will get hurt. If you don’t, many of your friends will die. The operation won’t be called off until we have your leader’s head on a silver platter. We don’t care what the casualty count is.”

Something crashed and broke against the door. His statement was macabre, but he hadn’t exaggerated. The FMA was partial to televised executions via lethal injection.

“Loyalty has its place, Red, but aren’t you taking it to idiotic proportions? That sadistic cult sent you into a building full of countless undead. The people you’re protecting once beat you to a bloody pulp for saving the lives of two innocent women. You don’t owe them shit.”

He almost fell back when she yanked the door open. He steadied himself by pushing down on the floor before launching to his feet.

When he turned and saw her expression, he frowned. He had expected to see anger, not an unnerving combination of fear and joy.

“What two women?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He had never told her she talked in her sleep. Connecting her fevered ramblings to the names of the two refugees was little more than a guess. But her reaction confirmed his suspicion.

Sensing how much this meant to her, he cupped her face before replying in a lowered voice. “Angela and Michelle. They showed up at the city around the time we met. You helped them escape. Isn’t that why you had been beaten half to death before being sent on a suicide mission?”