Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 (27 page)

After the IWOG civilization attempt, she’d begged him to stay. Now she wanted him to leave. He smelled vanilla sugar cookies tainted with citrus and compost.

“Please don’t send me away.” He’d go if she insisted, but he didn’t want to, not after her startling revelation. No wonder her scent was so baffling. Mary, Mary, quite contrary was a lustful virgin. He felt like a prime bastard for launching full-out seduction attempts on an innocent, then toying with her response. He once again played quite a villain.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know your name.” Rolling to her back, she looked up. “I don’t know mine, either, if you want to get technical.” An edge of defeat laced her voice. “All I know is I want you, whatever your name is.”

“Michael.”

“Your name is Michael?” She sounded so dubious he cringed.

“My first name is Michael.” Via the mirror, he looked right into her eyes.

“You wouldn’t just be saying that because Overlord’s name happens to be—”

“Michael Parker.”

“Yes, I know, that’s his name, and by an amazing coincidence your first name is—”

“Michael.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me.”

“No.” He’d just told her exactly who he was, but he’d done it in such a way he rather didn’t. He wanted to tell her everything, but fear held him back. If he told her the truth of his identity, he didn’t know how she’d react. “I wouldn’t lie to you about my name or yours.”

“Far as I know, it’s Mary. If that’s not good enough—”

“Mary.” He nestled her close. “I don’t care what your name is.” But he did. Possessive and fierce, he wanted her name to be Mary Parker. The realization hit him hard. He’d never wanted to bind himself to any woman, let alone give her his name, but Mary wasn’t any woman.

“You look like a Michael.” She stroked her fingers across his face.

“Do I?” He’d never thought about it.

“Yes. You look like…” Her voice faded away.

“Do I look like the Michael you want?” He feared having to live up to a hero he could never be.

She shook her head. “I never wanted you to be him. I wanted him to be you.” As if panicked by her honesty, she tried to cover. “I mean, you’re not him, but…”

“What?” he asked gently, molding his body to hers.

On a rush of breath and the poignant scent of honesty, she met his gaze in the mirror and whispered, “Please don’t be angry, but you look the way I always imagined Overlord would look.”

“I’m not angry.” He drew her tighter to comfort her. A surge of protective arousal, a combination he was not familiar with, filled him.

“Do I look like Kraft?” she asked hesitantly, exuding a tang of fear.

“No.” He snuggled his face to her neck, breathing in the confusing mixture of her scents: anxiety, desire and curiosity.

“Not a bit?” Her voice sounded younger than her years, almost childlike in her need for reassurance. He recognized the scent, because he had it too. That need for attraction to be honest and not filled with baggage. Mary did not want to be a stand-in for Kraft. He did not want to be Overlord, yet he was.

“No. You don’t look like Kraft.” He swept her hair from her face and kissed her tear-streaked cheek.

“Describe her to me.”

He paused, thinking back. Kraft was so many things, and he wondered how to convey her without hurting Mary. After a long pause, he pulled Mary tight.

“Kraft stood tall, big, an Amazon. Thick, black, incredibly long hair to her ankles, but she always kept her hair plaited tight, folded in half and bound in black linen. I never saw her hair unfurled. She could use her braid like a weapon. Hell, her whole body was a weapon. Kraft favored black clothing and wore a long silver blade to her left hip. Kraft was six-three of dark and deadly Walkyrie.”

“A serious ass-kicker.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not like that,” Mary said with quiet speculation.

“No. You are so much more deadly because you look bright-eyed innocent, yet you carry an arsenal in your skull.”

“You sound like you admire that.” She laughed, but her voice sounded a bit unsure.

“I do.” By reading her scent, he understood at once that she needed both reassurance and overt desire. Pulling her tighter into his embrace, he kissed her ear. “Physical combat is one skill, but you use that skill in conjunction with your brain and your intuition. And that is far more deadly.” He cupped her face and tilted her chin until she looked into his eyes. “You are the most dangerous person I have ever known.”

Mary blinked as if considering. “I doubt that.”

“In almost every way imaginable, you’ve turned my world upside down. Trust me, no other soul in the Void could lay claim to that but you.” With one intuitive trick to escape him, she damn near toppled his empire, without even meaning to. He admired her, respected her and deeply desired her.

“Not even—”

He hushed her with a finger and shook his head. “I don’t want to hear her name again. She’s gone and I am here with you, and that is just as it should be.”

After gazing into his eyes for a long time, Mary stroked his cheek. “I could say the same of you, Michael. That you are the most dangerous person I’ve ever known. You know more about me than anyone. Somehow that’s exciting and frightening all at once.”

He smiled. “I have no intention of hurting you with what I know. That’s not why I wanted to know.”

“Then why?”

“The more I know of you, the more I want to know. You fascinate me. I want you—” …
to stay with me so I can keep you safe.
He stopped himself short of confessing the truth in his heart.

“I want you.” Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt, fluttering and cautious, as if she wasn’t sure about undoing them.

Michael wanted her to rip them away, and if she didn’t, he would, but then he remembered vowing to Duster that he wouldn’t hurt Mary. He now stood on the brink of potentially doing just that. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you, Michael.”

Trying desperately to summon the will to leave, he found himself kissing her lips with light nips. She pulled him tight, deepening the contact.

As they explored each other, her scent changed from floral citrus to smoky. Love. Did he find that from her body or his? He could no longer tell and discovered it no longer mattered. If she trusted him, he would not fail her.

He pulled an alloy key from his pocket and removed her bracelet and his wrist com. He tossed them off the bed. “If you will trust your body to me, I will trust mine to you.”

She glanced at her bare wrist and then at his. “I have no desire to hurt you, Michael.”

When Mary said his name, it sounded like a magic spell to summon all she wanted. As he looked into her eyes, he saw only her desire for him, not Commander or Overlord, just a man named Michael.

Sliding his fingers over the slick silk of her shirt, he marveled in the heat his touch generated. A fire filled his whole body as he stroked each bit of her exposed flesh. With a murmured word, he slid her shirt and camisole up, then nuzzled the exposed curve of her breasts.

She moaned, relaxing into the bed, cupping his head, begging him closer. He smiled against her and continued to tease the sensitive skin that began the swell of her breasts. Still covered by black silk, her nipples contracted, and he lifted his head, took one in his mouth, then pulled back, blowing against the now wet silk. The cool breeze tightened her nipple, causing her to gasp and arch her back.

Nibbling, he pushed the camisole up and took the cool peak into his hot mouth. She uttered a stream of sexy profanity, and her body exuded a sharp, smoky essence of desire. His mouth and hands worked in tandem, bringing her panting breath and her lovely scent to a rushing pinnacle.

Suddenly, she pushed him away. Before he could wonder why, she yanked her shirt off along with her camisole and tossed them aside. She cupped his head, exerting faint pressure.

He took her nipple into his mouth again. On her sigh, he drew the peak more fully and nipped gently with his teeth. Her sigh turned to a growl as her fingers gripped more tightly to his head.

As he teased her breasts, he slid his hand down the firm curve of her belly, toying with the sensitive skin around her bellybutton. Working his way down, he ran his finger under the waistband of her skirt.

She tightened, not in fear but anticipation. As he kissed his way down her belly, he could smell the wet heat of her desire as verdant earth, shimmering spices and succulent citrus. Desire overwhelmed him, yet he wanted to please her, to show her without words how much he loved her.

Teasing around the edge of the skirt with fingers and lips, he enjoyed her growing frustration. When she tried to push her skirt down, he stopped her.

“Slow down, Mary.”

“I don’t want to go slow.”

Her insistence galvanized him. Together they pushed her skirt down. She wriggled it to her left leg and kicked it off the bed. Lifting her arms, she tried to draw him to her, but he angled up on his elbow so he could look at her beautiful bare body surrounded by salmon silk. In the soft light, her skin glowed peaches and cream, her lips fine claret, her cheeks flushed vermilion. She looked all at once vulnerable and strong.

Suddenly shy, she turned toward him, seeking solace in the shadow of his chest.

“Lie back and look up.” He glanced to the mirror over the bed. “I want you to see how beautiful you are.” He grasped her cast-bound leg and angled her injury over his hips. Tracing lightly, he teased her until she groaned, low and deep, and lifted her hips in an attempt to center his fingers. Her desire for penetration rolled off her in waves of luscious, edible scent. “Not yet,” he soothed, building intensity in her with the swipe of his thumb.

“Michael, please. I feel like I’m on fire.”

He flashed her a mischievous grin. “Not yet, you’re not. You’re only smoldering at this point.”

Hard and slow, he stroked his thumb across her clit. She lifted her hips to meet his touch, and he slipped his finger inside her.

She gasped, letting out a long “oh” of pleasure as she moved against his hand.

It maddened him, watching her face, her eyelids fluttering, as he felt her body contract and rock against his hand. Tight, so tight. He carefully slid another finger inside her, answering her need with a slow plunging of his hand.

Her eyes went wide, and she moaned, moving her hips in a wide circle that helped the thrust of his fingers. He noticed she kept her eyes open, looking up into the mirror over the bed. It surprised him. Most women closed their eyes, but not Mary.

“Are you watching my hand, lovely lady?” He wondered if she found the visual as arousing as he did.

“Yes.” Her eyes focused on the mirror above. Her slender and much paler body angled over his, her cast-bound leg slung over his hips as she wantonly welcomed him to fully pleasure her.

He snuggled his hand to her sweet, slick core. Pressing against her hip, his cotton slacks didn’t offer the same protection as his leather pants; he felt her body heat instantly against his erection. As he rocked his hips against her, he rocked his hand in the same rhythm. He filled her with strong fingers as his wicked need rode against her slender hip.

As if hypnotized, Mary watched their reflection in the mirror above the bed. He increased the tempo, and she stretched her arms over her head as she writhed, legs wantonly spread.

“But you—”

“Beautiful, my lady, you are so impossibly beautiful. Are you watching my hand?”

“Yes, but you’re still dressed.” Eyeing the mirror, using it to focus her gaze to his, she breathlessly begged and ordered, “I want to see you naked.” She reached for his pants, but he blocked her.

“We have all night. There’s no reason to hurry.” Lifting the angle of his hand, thrusting his fingers deep, circling her clit with his thumb, he lowered his mouth to her breast and tugged her coffee-colored nipple. Scraping that tight bit of flesh with his teeth, he worked his hand faster.

A shocked expletive escaped her and her hips met him thrust for thrust. “Please,” she begged in a breathless whisper.

He answered by slipping his fingers deep and hard, impaling her on the full of his hand and thrust of his arm. She uttered profanities as she grasped his forearm and pulled him to her body. He found her swearing arousing as hell, almost as compelling as the rich scent she exuded. Mary surrendered so fully, so soundly, he almost confessed his identity.

“It will feel even better,” he promised, slowing his hand as he nipped her neck, “when I fill you.” He brought his mouth to hers, growling the words to her swollen lips. “When I am inside you, you’ll wrap your legs around my hips to pull me into you.”

He slid his tongue between her lips, deepening the kiss. “When I penetrate you, Mary, you can wrap your arms around my shoulders, your legs around my hips, and
make
me ride you.”

Flicking his tongue deep into her mouth, he took a full taste of her compelling blood-orange scent. “You’ll be able to use your whole body to force me deeper. That’s if you want me. Do you want me, Mary?”

“Yes.” She teased her tongue across his lips and lowered her hand to cover his. “Deeper.” She pressed hard, rocking her hips firmly up.

Groaning, he thrust his hand fast and deep, unable to resist her further. Mary bucked, lifting her body in a rigid arc. She tightened around his fingers, and the powerful perfume of her orgasm nearly pushed him over the edge. He wanted to taste her pleasure so badly he almost bellowed, but he would wait until she recovered.

“Wow.” Shaking her head, she blinked, her eyes looking a bit dazed as she gazed into the mirror.

He smiled. “Indeed.”

She cast him a sly grin. “Aren’t you impressed with yourself?”

“Granted.” He winked. “But judging by your reaction, I think I have every right to be.”

“I could be faking,” she said archly, stroking his neck.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep sniff of the lush, rich, edible pleasure between her beautiful legs. “I can smell the truth.”

“Yeah-huh.” She blushed. “I forgot about that.”

He curled against her and they lay silent for a time.