Deep Kiss of Winter (43 page)

Breean was here.

She gulped, trying to concentrate on something
un
exciting. The room was spacious, lovely and . . . her brow wrinkled in confusion—looked like Christmas had exploded inside it. There was a tree in the corner. A fir. A real fir. She could smell the dew on the lush green bristles.

Cutting down a tree was illegal, for every species belonged to the government. Since he was already known as a murdering outlaw, Breean probably didn't care. Red and green bows were tied to the branches. White lights dripped from the ceiling like stars.

There was no sign of Breean, but there
was
a large bed draped in soft-looking white sheets, rumpled from a night of tossing and turning. Or hard-core, sweaty sex. Her stomach quivered.
Don't think like that
. There was a lounge, a marble vanity that boasted a decanter of whiskey and a plastic mini-tree.
There was a faux-bearskin rug on the floor with a green bow tied around one of its ears.

What drew her eye most, however, was the sunken tub in the center, filled with hot, steamy water. At least it was clear and not emerald or ruby.

“B-Breean?”

“I'm here.” He stepped from the closet, and he was as beautiful and mesmerizing as she remembered: tall, thickly muscled, with golden angel-features and an innate animalism that couldn't be denied. Her heart picked up speed, slamming against her ribs with so much force she thought they might crack.

He wasn't wearing a shirt. His nipples glistened as if they'd been dipped in glitter and were beaded into hard little points. Rope after rope of muscle tapered to his navel . . . then deliciously lower. Black pants hung low on his waist and hugged his thighs.

“I knew it!” she said, doing her best to sound outraged. “This room is a mock Christmas party and your cock is supposed to be a present, isn't it?” Okay, yeah, maybe she preferred that to any of the presents Macy's family would have given her. That didn't mean she could accept it. “Or am
I
supposed to be
your
present?”

His gaze raked over her, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Were you hurt?” His eyes went black, opaque completely overshadowing amber. In that moment, he looked like the cold-blooded murderer she'd accused him of being. “Did someone touch you?”

“No, not at all. I'm fine. Swear. But back to the present thing . . .”

Gradually, the dark haze abandoned his eyes and he met her stare. “How, then, did you get blood on your new clothes? And under your nails?” he added, frowning. “Syler thinks you cut yourself. Did you?”

Or not. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Convincing him to give her time to get to know him and grow to like him wasn't going to be as simple as she'd hoped. Obviously, the thought of her being hurt upset him, and that affected
her,
deeply and inexorably. Only Bride had cared enough about her to kiss her boo-boos and make them better. That someone else now seemed to want to do so was irresistible.

“Why would anyone in her right mind cut herself?” she asked. That way, she wasn't lying to him but wasn't admitting to the truth, either.

Of course, he didn't allow the subject to drop. “That does not answer my question.”

“Well, it's all the answer you're going to get from me.”

“You scratched or bit your wrists until they bled.
After
I told you of the dangers of contamination. Why? Why would you place my men at risk?”

“One, I'm not infected with anything, so they're safe. And two, why I cut myself is none of your damn business.” There. She'd given him a partial answer. Yes, she'd done this to herself. But tell him why? Not going to happen. She would not say the words aloud. They could be used against her in the most painful, horrifying way.

“Did you hope I would command you to strip if your clothing was tainted?” He ran his tongue over
his teeth, his anger seeming to swell despite his sensual suspicions. “Well, guess what? You get your wish. Take off the clothes. They offend me.”

She'd half expected the demand, but that didn't lessen its impact. Her stomach tightened and her hands quivered. “No.” Naked, she would lose all control of the situation. There would be no getting to know him, no buying time.

“We went over this yesterday, Aleaha. Take them off or I'll do it for you. You
are
going to wash.”

She squared her shoulders. She wouldn't be cowed, not in this. She'd fight him if she had to, but she was staying dressed—and staying sane.

But if you fight him to stay dressed, he'll put his hands on you. And if he puts his hands on you, you'll cave.
Damn it. Either way, they would have sex. She just couldn't win. Still she said, “You stay on that side of the room, and I'll stay on this side, and we'll chat.” Curse his good looks. And his money. And his concern. And his smell.
Okay, you can stop now.

He surprised her by grinning. “As you are fond of saying, no. We will not chat.”

That smile . . . She lost every whiff of breath in her lungs. Maybe that was a good thing. Her every inhalation was filled with him, branding her every cell. “I don't want you,” she said, more for her benefit than his.

“We shall see.” Still grinning, he tugged at the waist of his pants. They immediately loosened and floated to the ground in a pool at his feet. Leaving him completely bare.

His penis was golden and hard, long and thick, and seeing it caused the moisture in her mouth to dry. Her hand fluttered over her lips to hold back her gasp of need. “I'm telling you now,” she croaked, “I want this.” Wait. What? “I mean, I want to talk to you, to get to know you.”

Pleasure infused his eyes, but he shook his head. “That will come after,” he said huskily. “But don't worry.
I'm
not going to take you. Yet.”

He was in front of her in the next instant, moving so quickly she barely had time to register the fact that nothing was going as planned. He was supposed to bow to her desire to chat. He was supposed to give her time to accept him—so that she could then betray him.

The smell of honey wrapped around her, filled her, more intense than before, instantly clouding her thoughts. Sex with him wouldn't be so bad. It
did
take time, and time was all she wanted. Right? Seriously, screwing him blind should have been her plan all along.

“Don't move,” he said. “I don't want to hurt you.”

She forced out a sigh, even as a tremor of pleasure slid the length of her spine. “I thought men liked for women to move, but whatever. I'm your captive and you're in charge, so if you want to do this, we'll do this. For the record, I'm completely unwilling.”

His smile fell away.

She almost cursed. Had she overplayed her hand? “What I meant to say was that, uh, I'm willing. But only because you're—”

“I believe I mentioned that chatting was for later.” And then he was stepping inside her—
oh, God, oh, God
—just as she'd seen that soldier do in the forest.

Her skin tingled and burned, but it wasn't unpleasant. “Breean?” His name trembled from her. Her bones gave a sharp ache, but quickly settled into a pleasurable hum.

Shhh,
she heard in her mind.
Almost done
.

Her body seemed to expand to accommodate him, but as she stared down at her hands, she couldn't see an outline of him. Couldn't see any hint of him, for that matter. Yet
he was inside her
. They were joined.

“Get out of me,” she demanded. Another tremor hit her, and this time it had nothing to do with pleasure. Did he plan to kill her? Make her put a gun to her head?

Take off your clothes
.

Her arms obeyed without hesitation. And there was nothing she could do to stop them, no matter how hard she tried. She watched, wide-eyed, as her hands pulled and jerked at her clothing until she was completely naked.

“How did you do that?”

I control your actions. Not your thoughts, not the sensations you feel, but your actions.

“Get out of me,” she repeated, harsher this time. “If I spontaneously change shapes, you could—” What? Become trapped inside the new body? She didn't know. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

You won't change. I'm in control. Now, I know you wanted my cock as your Christmas present—

“I did not!”

He continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. —
since you mentioned it more than once, but I'm giving you something else.

“What?” And was that . . . disappointment slithering through her?

You'll see. Walk to the tub
.

Her feet were moving in the next instant, and she yelped in frustration and fury because she couldn't stop them. “Damn you! You can't know for sure what will happen if— Ah!” She stepped into the water and sat on the bench, the wet heat lapping and licking at her bare skin. She moaned in ecstasy as the water rippled, laving and caressing.

“Why are you doing this?” Her gaze locked on the scabs on her inner thighs, and she heard Breean give a soft sigh.

Tell me why you did that to yourself and perhaps I will answer your question
.

“Unequal exchange. No deal.”

Another sigh.
No more pain, sweet. Not for you. Only pleasure. Now, take the soap and cleanse yourself from head to toe. Be careful not to rub the sores.

She didn't see the soap, but her hand somehow knew where it was and reached. Her fingers curled around the honey-scented bar and brought it to her body, where she massaged herself from head to toe as ordered. She even dunked under the water and came up sputtering.

“That's enough.”
I want more
. The contradiction belonged to her, not him. “I'm clean.”
Dirty
. “Let me out of the tub.”
In an hour
.

Could he hear her naughty thoughts?

Not just yet.
Nope. He couldn't. Otherwise he would have said something.
I want to make you come.

Make her— Oh no. No, no, no. It was one thing to enjoy him. One thing to sleep with him. Maybe. One thing to come together. Again, maybe. But it was quite another to allow her enemy to give her an orgasm, while
he
felt nothing. No maybe about it.

“And I want you to. Get.
Out
.”

Let's see if I can change your mind. Knead your breasts
.

A heartbeat later, she was cupping her own breasts, plumping them up and moaning at the scandalous decadence. “Stop. Don't . . . stop.”

Do not worry. Stopping isn't an option. Now thumb your nipples.

She didn't even try to resist this time. It was futile, her body obeying before she even realized what he'd said. Her thumbs slid over her wet nipples as commanded, stroking and circling. Felt . . . so . . . good . . . Her mind was darkening, concentrating only on the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Breean.”

I like when you say my name. I can't wait to hear you shout it.

“I won't.” He forced her to pinch, then caress away the sting. “Won't, won't, wont.”
Breean, Breean, Breean
.

You will. Because it's good. So, so good. Too good
.

Yes, too good. Her skin was burning, tingling, her stomach quivering. The ache between her legs was growing, spreading. As he'd promised, however, she remained Aleaha, slave to Breean, not once changing into another person.

Pretend it's my tongue flicking over those pretty peaks
.

That was not a command he could enforce because it wasn't physical but she found herself obeying anyway. As her fingers played with those hard, sensitive tips, she pictured him in her mind, golden head bent over her, hot tongue flicking.

Another moan slipped from her. “Breean. I don't . . . I don't understand how this is possible.” Her hips were writhing in sync with her efforts, and water was pumping over the sides of the tub.

Are you aroused?

“You know I am.” As if she could really deny it.

Do you want to touch yourself between your legs?

And finally assuage the ache? She could have sobbed, the anticipation was so consuming. Her knees were already open and spreading, waiting for that first heated touch.

Do you?

“Yes,” she whispered. Just then she was beyond caring about the circumstances, what she'd come here for, what she'd hoped to avoid. About the shame she'd probably feel afterward. I'm so weak, she thought, but she needed to touch herself. Would die if she didn't. Since the moment their eyes had
first met, they'd been building to this point. Her body had been ready, desperate, and she'd resisted. That had only made it worse. She realized that now.

There could be no more resisting.

She tried to slip one of her hands down her stomach, but it wouldn't move away from her breast. “Breean. Please.”

Please what?

“Let me touch myself there.”

What will you give me in return?

“Presents are—presents . . .” She was panting, having trouble getting the words out. “You aren't supposed . . . to expect anything . . . in return. Now please.”

What will you give me in return
? he insisted.
I can give you pleasure, and I can prevent you from changing. Isn't that what you want?

Argh! “Yes. Fine. Fine, but what do you want in return?”

You. As my lover. My lover in truth.

“Okay. Yes. Deal. Whatever you want?” She'd meant it as a statement, but it emerged as a question. God, she was about to explode. The more she fondled her breasts, the more the ache between her legs increased with dizzying frenzy. If she didn't do something soon, her heart really was going to burst from her chest.