Of Alliance and Rebellion (6 page)

“Don’t stop now,” Max breathed. “Please.” His voice broke on the single syllable, and with that, some of Anahita’s nervousness disappeared. He had to be enjoying this to some degree or he wouldn’t wish it to continue.

As she began to move her fingers down again, the fabric she was feeling tented outward until she ran into the turgid ridge of flesh that had been pressed into her. She closed her eyes and swallowed a moan that did
not
come from mere curiosity as her fingers traced it down, and down—she had not expected it to be so long—into the leg of his trousers where it seemed to be painfully pinned between his thigh and the constricting seam of his pants. When her fingers encountered a raised ridge of flesh several inches down his pant leg, Max sucked in a ragged breath and then cursed softly into her hair.

Her hand tried to close around what it held, but the fabric of his pants prevented her, and she felt an uncharacteristic flare of impatience that manifested itself in a breathy moan.

In answer, Max brushed his cheek against hers, the bristling texture of his beard chaffing her just right, and whispered, “You don’t have to stay on the outside of my pants, you know.”

• • •

Max held his breath and cursed himself as soon as the words left his lips.
You don’t have to stay on the outside of my pants
? Fucking shady. And where was this confidence coming from? He was speaking to the angel the way he’d spoken to women before his capture. Before his scarring. But that was when he had his looks on his side. He couldn’t even stare Oliver and Luke in the eyes these days, and here he was pinning an exquisite angel to the wall and whispering filthy orders to her.

The skin of her cheek was so soft that Max wanted to stay here, pressing his face against it, for the rest of his miserable existence. And that unwelcome sentiment was exactly why Max jerked his face away from hers. So far, he’d kept contact to a minimum—only their clothed bodies touching—and that was the one thing that was keeping him sane. Though he ached with every ounce of his restraint to run his hands over her exposed skin, and her unexposed skin, for that matter, Max kept them firmly planted on the stone wall behind the angel.

He hadn’t been touched by a woman in nine years, and the angel’s heady, unpracticed sweeps of her hand were about to unman him—in more than one way. Max feared he’d spill in her palm, but more than that, he feared he’d spill tears. He’d had no idea he’d been so starved for any kind of physical affection. He found himself wishing that he’d allowed Luke’s attempts at those damn hugs he was always trying to give over the years.

When the angel had brushed her fingers over the head of his aching erection, Max ground his teeth against the broken pleas that threatened to burst from him. What had slipped out instead was that little beauty about shoving her hand down his pants.

Max closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her perfect, blond waves, as he hoped she would ignore what he’d just said. Or at the very least, not rip his limbs off with the strength he suspected she possessed but held at bay.

So, when she made a deep noise that vibrated from her chest into his and sounded anticipatory, Max nearly sprang back from her so he could see her face. He held himself very still, knowing he’d
had
to have misinterpreted that sexy noise. But then, her fingers started moving back up the inside of his thigh.

Max found himself arching into her touch as those fingers burned a trail up the front of his hips and rested at the button of his fatigues. He could feel her uncertainty radiating from her in the sudden tension of her muscles. “I may …
touch
you?” she asked breathlessly.

Max bit back the instantaneous desire to bellow
yes
into her ear, and instead managed a bitten-off, “Please.”

She sucked in a ragged breath—for courage?—and began to fumble at undoing the aged button that barely held his pants together. Something most unwelcome, almost like affection, overwhelmed him. She may have never done something like this before. It made him feel simultaneously protective and resentful. If she was new to this, he had certain responsibilities. Didn’t he? He felt like normal,
kind
men were careful in these situations. Those societal expectations could go fuck themselves. And yet… He nearly placed a hand over hers and stepped away with some sort of excuse to end an encounter she may not be ready for.

But then, the image of Oliver dying—
again
—surged to the forefront of Max’s memory, and any desire to be gentle with this angel’s sensibilities vanished in a violent death all its own.

“Do it,” he spoke into the angel’s ear, resisting the urge to nibble on her earlobe. “Touch me.”

Her breath hitched and then resumed in a quickened rhythm as she brought her other hand into the mix and used both sets of fingers to unbutton his pants. They breathed simultaneously as she spread the front of his pants apart, the sound of his zipper coming down echoing in the quiet cell.

Max was close enough to her that he knew she wouldn’t be able to look down and examine him, and he was grateful, though he definitely wanted to feel her eyes on his cock. If she was inexperienced, she might not respond favorably to his size, and he could tell by the heaviness in his groin that he was bigger than usual.

He could see the harried rhythm of her pulse in the flutter at the base of her neck as she skimmed hesitant fingers along the expanse of skin below his belly button. Max’s body jerked without his permission, and he hissed in a breath.

He’d never felt anything as arousing as this brush of her fingers against his naked skin. His head fell back, and his throat worked up and down as he resisted the strong desire to speak to her—to whisper
nice
things into her ear: call her his pretty angel as he had done once before in a moment of low resistance; tell her how much she rocked him, both in how she looked and with what she was doing; beg her for more; plead with her to wrap her arms around him and hold him. Sentimental shit that he would never say in his right mind, and that he suspected she would deliver if he did. That he could not stand. He would completely break down in her arms.

Her fingers maneuvered inside of his pants, and Max realized that as soon as her fingers had touched his skin, the discomfort—which had been steadily headed toward pain and had plagued him over the past two days, since hearing
The One
… it had vanished.

The relief he felt was palpable, and with the relief came a renewed sense of urgency that she not stop touching him. Not until he was sure his relief would be long-lived.

For the first time since this encounter began, Max allowed one of his hands to move away from the wall. He pulled his open pants further aside to allow the angel’s hand easier access to the aching erection within. Like they had coordinated the move, the angel took his cue and slipped her hand deeper into his pants.

Her cool fingers brushed against his cock at the root where it was bent sharply down, trapped as it was in his pant leg. Even that light brush nearly unmanned him.

“Soft,” she murmured.

Max closed his eyes and the grip he had on his pants tightened while the knuckles of his other fist ground farther into the stone. “Take it in your hand, angel,” he whispered roughly. “Free me.”

She muttered a sound of assent, and then she tried to wrap her fingers around him in the confines of his pants. It took some obvious effort, and when she tentatively tugged on him a couple of times, Max’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“I cannot…” the angel paused. “I do not want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he muttered. Not caring if his pants hit the ground, Max slid the hand that had been holding his pants inside next to her fingers. His pants stayed put, and their fingers brushed together as Max showed her how to wrap around him and pull him free. And then she held him in her hands.

Max couldn’t prevent the earthy groan that rose from his chest at her first hesitant squeeze.

“You feel…” The angel hesitated, and Max held his breath. “I am in awe,” she said on a breath.

Max allowed himself to move into her grip slightly. “Move with me,” he whispered, forcing his hand to rejoin the other against the stone wall when he wanted to wrench her to him and thrust with all his strength. When Max next canted his hips forward, the angel moved her fist down his length with him.

“Oh, God,” Max groaned. His fists unfurled, and his fingertips grappled at the stone wall. “Please,” he heard himself beg. “Don’t stop, please.”

The angel’s breaths were near pants, they came so quickly, and she moved her fist over his length like this was a fucking dream, somehow knowing he needed her to move faster. Harder.

Max’s eyes closed, and he admitted defeat. He knew he was not going to last. At all. What had begun only minutes before was going to be over in the next few heartbeats, and there was nothing Max could do to stop it. Even if he pulled her hand from his body, it wouldn’t help, because the memory of her fingers on him would take him to the finish line just as quickly.

“Angel…I—” A groan cut off his words.

As though she already knew his body, she tightened her grip and increased her pace even more. And just like that, it was over.

Stars burst behind Max’s closed eyes, and he heard the distant sound of rock cracking beneath his hands. He clenched his lips against words that wanted to burst from him as violently as his orgasm—words that would be endearments. The pleasure kept coming until Max wondered if it would ever end. When his skin grew too sensitive, he covered the angel’s hand with one of his own, stilling her movements but keeping her hand upon him at the same time. He gulped mouthfuls of air as he tried to regain his senses, and in a moment of weakness, his other hand found the back of the angel’s head. With a moan, he drew her into his body, tucking her head beneath his chin. A fine tremor wracked his body.

Thoughts bombarded him: She was magnificent. He was never going to be the same.

As soon as he caught his breath, he was going to lay her down on the cot to their right and cover her with his body. He was going to touch her so right until she was breathless and couldn’t say his name until it burst from her in a scream as she came apart in his arms.

His thoughts broke off as she nuzzled into his neck. Clarity began to return as she opened her mouth and licked the hollow of his throat, her tongue so hot in the cool cell that Max jumped. And then she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him close.

Just before he returned her embrace, he remembered himself. He was imprisoned somewhere in Afghanistan. His best friend in the world died every week. His other friend relied on Max to keep him safe. He’d approached the angel to avoid Oliver’s fate and no other reason. And he was a hair’s-breadth away from losing control to the very creature who’d threatened to kill him.

With a harsh curse, Max wrenched his hand from the back of the angel’s head and tried to step back. When her arms tightened, Max gripped the angel by her biceps and pulled out of her embrace.

As soon as he was free, he took two giant steps back and dropped her arms as though they scalded him. He felt himself scowl as he took her in. Her hair was disheveled from his fingers, and her lips were glistening wet from when she’d licked his neck. His orgasm marked the front of her robe.

She looked so confused by his sudden abandonment that, for a moment, he almost couldn’t resist wrapping her in his arms again and reassuring her. He even took a step toward her to do just that before he forced iron into his spine and stood his ground.

She threatened to kill you
.
Would have turned you into a vegetable if you’d let her
. With a sick feeling in his gut, he wiped all emotion from his face. Shaking his hair into his eyes and staring at a location somewhere over her shoulder, he sneered. “Was
that
part of your orders, angel?”

As soon as the words left his lips, he felt like the dick he was. In his peripheral vision, he saw the angel jolt as though she’d been struck, and Max curled his fists at his sides. She placed a trembling hand over her stomach, and Max glanced at her face through his hair. He immediately regretted it. Her eyes were wide and glassy. She took a step back, and then another one, until her back met the wall where she’d hand-fucked him moments before. Her lush bottom lip trembled, and Max felt as though he would vomit.

Then, her chin rose into the air, and she fixed him with a look of utter sorrow. In the next moment, she vanished.

Max felt his eyes widen as he stumbled forward, his hand outstretched toward the space the angel had just occupied. He stopped and forced his arm back to his side.

A sound behind him brought him up short, and Max turned around only to find the twisted face of Luke where he still sat on Oliver’s cot. Max had never seen Luke look at someone the way he was looking at Max right now. Rage contorted features that were usually so quick to offer a smile.

“What the
hell
, man?” Luke’s words quavered with fury.

Max closed his eyes as he realized what he’d just done in front of an audience. That Luke had deigned to swear at him was telling enough in and of itself. Max had never heard him use a word harsher than
gosh
, and they were soldiers.

“I know,” Max whispered, shocking himself even more. He apologized to no one. “I know,” he said again, staring at his toes.

Max heard the sound of Oliver’s cot squeaking and then the rustle of fabric as Luke approached him. With a sigh, Max raised his head and didn’t defend himself as Luke’s fist snapped toward Max’s jaw.

It was less than what he deserved.

Anahita covered her mouth with her fist, biting into the flesh of her knuckles to keep from moaning aloud. From just outside her Temptation’s cell, she watched through the bars as Luke punched Max. She had been able to gather herself enough to sink through the walls in the moments following Max’s cold dismissal of their intimate act.

As Max hung his head and covered his face, Anahita clenched her knees together, hoping to assuage the foreign ache between her thighs that plagued her to the point of tears. The skin of her own knuckles tasted bitter in comparison to the heady honey that had been Max’s neck as she’d dabbed her tongue in the hollow—an instinctual action she longed to repeat again and again.