Reaper's Vow (24 page)

“You like the way I look at you?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Tapping that smile with his fingertip, he traced a path from her lips, down the side of her neck, over the ridge of her collarbone, to the hollow between her breasts. Goose bumps trailed in the wake of his touch and raced ahead, climbing the rise of her breast. Her nipples pulled tighter. It was his turn to smile. “Good.”

Slowly reaching over, giving her all the time in the world to anticipate his touch, he took the right nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching it lightly, increasing the pressure gradually until she moaned and shifted, arching up. He held the tension there.

“Right there, doll?”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “Oh, yes.”

Her legs shifted on the mattress, invisible to him beneath the skirt. Inside him a reckless power surged, tightening his muscles, heightening his passion. He wanted to see her do that naked. Wanted to see the moisture gather on her pussy. Wanted to see her spread her legs in wanton invitation. Wanted to gather her moisture on his tongue. To taste her. Shit, he needed to taste her.

“More.”

He released her nipple reluctantly. Her nipples just sat there, pert and sweet, just begging. Before he could help himself, he gave them both a little slap. As if struck by lightning, her eyes flew open, and she arched higher. His breath stopped. So did hers. She gasped his name. Son of a bitch. She liked that. His smile broadened. Well, so did he.

He did it again. No different, just the same light contact, just enough to tease, to snap her nerve endings to attention.

“Cole!”

Her fingers dug into the sheets. There was a ripping sound as her nails cut through the material. He liked that, too. He grazed the back of his own nails down her stomach, smiling when the muscles sucked in. When he got to the waistband of her skirt, they both stopped breathing. He popped the threads on the first button at the waistband, holding her gaze as the second one followed the first. She didn't look away, but she still didn't breathe. He smiled, knowing what she wanted. He brushed her hair off her face with his free hand, feeling the dampness of her skin, the heat of her passion. His senses sharpened on a surge of energy.

Her scent surrounded him. Spicy, sweet, sexy woman. His cock pounded in his pants. He'd tell her to free him except if he did, he'd be in her so fast that it would be over before it began. And he didn't want it over yet. He wanted to explore all the options with this woman. Wanted to see how high he could take her before he satisfied them both. He slipped his fingers under the loosened waistband, gliding them over the cotton of her drawers. Still holding her gaze, he shook his head.

“I don't want you wearing these anymore.”

He found the slit. His finger naturally slipped inside. She moaned and bit her lip.

“I can't go naked.”

“What did I tell you about telling me no?”

“But . . .”

“I want you available.”

Her energy flared in a convulsive ripple of delight. “They have a hole!”

“So do you.”

He teased her with his fingertip, circling lightly, once, twice. Her muscles clenched. He did it again, harder. “A silky, tight one.”

She bit her lip and groaned, whether from his words or from his finger parting her folds, he wasn't sure, but she was wet, deliciously wet. He dipped his fingers into her juices, coating them, watching her squirm as he did, deliberately not touching her clit. Just as slowly he withdrew. Watching her watch him as he brought his fingers to his mouth was one of the hottest things he'd ever done. With a slow flick of his tongue he tasted her. The growl came from deep within, torn out from the depths of his soul as the taste spread through his mouth. Sweet, spicy. His.

She shivered. He swore that same shiver snaked down his own spine. She reached up and touched his cheek. The barest hint of contact. The impact sliced through his defenses like the hot edge of a knife, searing the open wound on his soul he'd learned to live with, cauterizing the bleeding but leaving an ache. A bone-deep ache that was somehow harder to bear. Until her fingers feathered over his lips. Then it just seemed right.

“Yes, my little china doll. Feel what I feel as I make you squirm and scream.”

Slipping her fingers between his lips, she drew him to her with the slightest of pressures. Chest to chest. Mouth to mouth. So close when he exhaled, his was the breath she drew in. Perfectly primal. Just—he groaned—perfect. Fuck waiting.

He went to tear open his pants, but her hand was there before his.

With a grin, that almost made him spill, she murmured, “Let me.”

“Worried about the sewing you'd have to do after?”

A widening of her grin was her answer. Her other hand joined the first. Unbuttoning, brushing. Squeezing. It was his turn to groan. Her turn to smile.

She liked him like this, Miranda decided. Impatient and needing, wanting what only she could give. Wanting her. Not for what she could bring him. Not for status, but simply because she made him hunger. She unbuttoned the last button. His cock fell into her palm. So hard and thick. She measured its length in a series of squeezes. And boy, he was big. Her pussy throbbed and clenched.

“Damn, that feels good, china doll.”

Yes, it did. And right. He forgot to say right. In a way it never had before. She felt a pang of guilt at the comparison to her husband. But he had been more boy than man, chasing dreams without substance. And she'd followed him. Been loyal to him. But she was a woman now with a woman's needs and understanding, and Cole was a man. All man.

“Your man,” he growled, thrusting his cock through her fist. She shivered as he pulled back and the rim caught on the edge of her hand. A stroke of her thumb found the broad head wet. It was her turn to taste and his turn to curse.

“Fuck.”

He did swear too much, but right in that moment she didn't care. She had the taste of him on her tongue, salty sweet and spiced with the essence of Cole. Everything Reaper in her went wild with the demand for more. She wanted him. Not for the short time she'd have with him as a human, but all of him. For a Reaper's lifetime and beyond.

Her canines itched and lengthened as his scent, that addictive scent, grew stronger. Beckoned and drew. Tempted.

She put her hand over the mark of her previous bite. It would be so easy, so easy to take the final step that would bring him into her world. Into her life.

She looked up. “Don't let me bite you.”

His gaze searched hers. And while everything inside said hide, she didn't. She just lay there, her mark heating under her skin, and she let him see the battle inside, the good and the bad. The need. His hand covered hers. Immediately the chaos settled to calm.

“I won't.”

He didn't sound any more sure than she did. But it was a start. And when he came over her, it was another. A blending of souls as skin warmed skin.

“Mate.”

The word whispered from deep within.

“Wife,” he answered just as fervently. Two different words from two different people but only one meaning.

“Mine.”

Cole shook his head and feathered kisses over her forehead. “You've got that backward, china doll. You're mine.” His knees separated hers. Her legs spread easily, naturally. He felt so right.

“Every delicious inch of you.”

She arched her back, opening. Offering. “Yes.”

His cock fell hot and heavy against the pad of her pussy. Her senses drew up taut, focusing on that point of connection.

She grabbed at his shoulders. “Cole.”

“Yes, baby?”

Her fingers slipped on the fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. She tried again. Even Reaper, her strength was nothing against his. The knowledge just spiked her passion further.

“I need you.”

“Fuck.” It was a curse and a plea. “I need you, too.”

She tugged harder, her nails digging slightly. He growled and tucked his arms under her knees, pulling her legs high and wide, pinning her with his strength. His desire. His lust. Oh God, she loved his lust.

“Don't let me hurt you.”

He couldn't. “You can't.”

She lifted her hips higher. Arched her back. The wet heat of his mouth closed around her right nipple in a burning consummation echoed in her pussy as his cock tunneled into the tight folds, claiming her inch by inch. It'd been so long. Too long and never like this. Everything in her opened as she took him, body, heart, and soul. Everyone said it took three bites to make a Reaper. Three bites to make a mate, but in that moment when Cole's cock stretched her beyond capacity, while she breathed and struggled to manage the sensation, the knowledge that wasn't the truth sunk deep. All it took was the right man and the right woman coming together. Nothing more, because that was enough. Almost too much.

“Too much?” he asked, in a voice gone guttural with the same emotion buffeting her.

She squeezed tentatively or tried to. And within her the flames burst forth. It was too much. Unbearable. Perfect. But at the same time she needed . . . With a twist of her hips she whispered, “More.”

“Yes, more. All.” He ground against her. “Jesus, baby, I need you.”

His expression was hard and tight with desire. It wasn't enough. She needed more. She wanted to see his face softened with repletion, wanted to feel his come soak her pussy in a rich explosion, to know that she'd drained him, emotionally, physically. In every way. To know that they were one.

“Take me. All of me. Please.”

He needed no more encouragement. With a growl that spiked her lust to a fever pitch, he pulled back, his cock dragging deliciously on the delicate flesh within, stretching her again as he drove back in, harder, deeper. Every stroke building on the last, giving her more as her plea repeated itself in a primitive litany.

“Please. Please. Please.”

Over and over she begged, and over and over he gave her what she wanted until she couldn't hold on and he couldn't hold back. Until she was so raw and sensitive just the pulse of his cock, just knowing he was about to come, threw her into orgasm.

“Fuck!”

On a thrust so hard she felt it in her womb, he flooded her spasming pussy, filling her as she rippled around him, reveling in every pulse, every drop. She squeezed harder when he released her legs and collapsed against her, milking those last drops of come from him, letting his shudder reverberate through her, feeling the depth of his pleasure.

“Greedy woman,” he muttered, shivering again, his cock giving a little jump inside her. Her teeth itched to bite. To mark. Oh Lord, she wanted to mark him again.

Pushing up on his elbow he smoothed her hair off her face. “You all right?”

She nodded. “You?”

She would have been offended by his chuckle if he hadn't kissed her right then. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers, and she felt him inside and out. She'd never been kissed so tenderly before, so deeply. Never been so utterly and completely owned in one moment by one man. It scared the crap out of her.

His lips grazed her eyes, her nose, the corner of her mouth. “Just relax, baby. I've got you.”

She had to believe, Miranda realized, because sometime in the last few minutes she'd given herself away. Wrapping her arms around Cole's neck and her legs around his hips, she whispered, “Don't let me go.”

He held her just as closely with one difference. There was no fear or uncertainty in his voice when he promised, “Never.”

16

For a man who'd been looking to run, he sure hadn't gotten very far, Cole thought the next morning, tying the last knot in the rope he'd braided around the limb of a big tree out behind the house. He might not be able to give Wendy much right now, but he could give her a swing. Every child should know what it felt like to almost fly.

“Is it done yet?”

He looked at Wendy. She was so full of excitement she was about to pop out of her skin. “Just about. You wouldn't want me to tie it wrong and have you come crashing down just as you were about to touch the sky, would you?”

She shook her head, sending those braids to dancing. “No.” A pause and then, “Will I really be able to touch the sky?”

“Yup.” He smiled down at her. It was a small untruth that wouldn't even matter once her imagination was set free. She grinned up at him with that gap-toothed smile of hers. He'd made the swing simply because it bothered him that the little girl had nothing to play with but dirt. Almost as much as Miranda's defensive declaration this morning after the glow of lovemaking wore off.

When push comes to shove, you'll leave, and it will just be Wendy and me.

She'd said that over leftover stew and biscuits as if bringing it up over something as normal as a meal somehow made it normal. If Wendy hadn't bounced in right then, he'd have blistered Miranda's butt, and not in a good way.

He yanked the knot tight. How the hell the woman could say that to him after being so close his breath was hers, her thoughts were his, their scents and energy blended, he didn't know, but she had. Somehow, somewhere along the line, she'd learned not to depend on anyone to survive, and she was trying to push him away.

He tugged the rope, testing the soundness. That was going to change, because come hell or high water, that woman was going to learn to depend on him. People had made marriages work on a lot less than the compatibility they had.

“Is it ready now?” Wendy asked again.

He looked down. She was pretty much dancing on her toes, her often-repaired dress blowing in the breeze, her eyes big with anticipation. He couldn't believe she had never had a swing. The girl was made for the mental adventures that went hand in hand with swinging high on bright sunny days. “Yup.”

By the time he climbed down off the tree, Wendy was already scooting her butt back onto the wooden board he'd made into the swing. She gripped the ropes with white knuckles, looking up at him with uncharacteristic caution.

“You won't push me too high?”

The uncertainty was too reminiscent of her mother's. “I'll only push you as high as you want to go.”

Her feet dangled above the ground. She bit her lip. The wind blew her hair off her face. She looked very small, very scared, and he remembered how she'd hung on for him in the barn. There was a lot of fight inside that little girl. But also a lot of hurt.

“You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, little one.” He needed to say it to her for the simple reason he didn't think she'd heard it enough from enough people.

She nodded and took a breath. And before his eyes that grit he admired in her settled into place, tightening her expression and narrowing her gaze. When her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth, he had to smile.

As soon as he stepped behind her, she looked over her shoulder. “Just a little one, all right?”

He nodded. “It's always best to test the waters before you go pulling the trigger on something new.”

He couldn't see Wendy's face now because she'd turned around, but the nod of her head was tight, indicating all the fear inside her, but she was still sitting on that swing, still ready to go. The kid had guts. His brothers were going to love her. He put his hand on the ropes. She jerked.

“Just a little one,” he reassured her.

Again that stiff nod. He gave the swing a gentle push. She squealed as if he'd sent her sailing to the moon. The squeal brought back memories.

Addy used to like to go sailing to the moon. Her skirt would fly up, and her petticoats would flash. Reese would tease her about showing her ruffles, and she'd squeal again and try to hold her skirt down with one hand or catch it between her thighs. Reese would only push her harder then, just to see that laughter in her face. She'd lost so much laughter, and Cole hated to admit it, but with Isaiah she seemed to have found it again. Cole resented the hell out of the fact that she'd found it without him. But he understood. And he was glad. Like Wendy, sometimes he had to test out an idea before he could pull the trigger on it.

He fits her.

Reese's words came back again. Cole sighed and gave Wendy another little push. Goddammit, he was getting tired of Reese being right, but Isaiah did seem to fit Addy, filling those holes that Cole, as her cousin, couldn't fill, understanding her in ways that he hadn't been able to. Addy just might have known what she was doing when she'd started feeding Isaiah.

Cole gave Wendy a third push. This time she didn't squeal, but he felt the excitement start to replace the dread in her energy. She was a bold thing under all that caution. He pushed her again and again, keeping his promise, not sending her any higher, just a nice gentle rhythm that she was comfortable with, building her trust. It saddened him that she needed him to build that trust, but he was used to it; this was a hard country. Hard on humans, hard on Reapers, and maybe, he decided, especially hard on humans living with Reapers.

“Do you like it here, Wendy?”

She nodded. “It's much better than moving all the time.”

“Why is that?”

She cast him a quick look over her shoulder, her knuckles still white on the rope. He had an impression of resignation. “I couldn't have a swing if we kept moving.”

“Fair enough. What else would you like to have?”

“A puppy.” She was surrounded by wolves, and she wanted a puppy?

“What else?”

She kicked her feet, making the hem of her dress flutter. “A pretty new dress like Milly Sandoval had.”

“Who is Milly Sandoval?”

He could feel the walls close up around her. Whoever Milly was, she'd hurt Wendy. Cole hated that. Hated the thought that anyone would dim that bright, glowing spirit.

“A girl in town.”

“Which town?”

She shrugged. “I don't remember, but she had a pretty yellow dress. She looked like sunshine.”

“Did you like Milly?”

There was a silence while he pushed her two more times. Finally she muttered, “She laughed at me.”

Cole had the overwhelming inclination to dislike Milly Sandoval. “She did, huh?”

Wendy nodded. He could guess why. Wendy's clothes were serviceable but screamed poverty.

“Must be she was jealous of how pretty you are. So pretty you didn't even need a yellow dress to make you shine.”

She turned. “That's what Momma said.”

“Your momma is a smart woman.”

“Not about everything.”

And her daughter was a smart girl. Too smart to be corralled into a blanket assertion that might not work in her favor down the road.

Cole hid his grin. “But she was right about this.”

Wendy's “maybe” was sullen. He knew right then he was going to find the prettiest material he could from somewhere and Wendy was going to have a dress so beautiful it would put all the other girls' dresses to shame.

“I guess we'll have to see about a shopping trip.”

Wendy looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Mama needs a new dress, too.”

Yes, she did. This time he didn't hide his smile. “We'll have to see about that, then, too.”

Another look over her shoulder, less hesitant this time, more secure. “She likes blue.”

“I'll bet her eyes look pretty when she wears blue.”

Wendy nodded. “They look just like the best chocolate.”

“Chocolate is my favorite thing.”

Wendy licked her lips. “Mine, too.”

“Duly noted.” He pushed her higher. “Next time we go to town, we're going to have to find some chocolate and some dress material, yellow and blue.”

Wendy shook her head so hard her braids didn't know which way to fly. Up and down with the swing or side to side with her head. “I don't want yellow.”

“No? I thought we were going to outdo that town girl?”

“I want red.”

A bright, cheery color, scandalous on an adult and not too proper for a child. Miranda was probably going to fuss at him. “Then red it will be.”

“Mom said red is a scandalous color.”

Ah, so the subject had already been addressed. “On anyone else but you, maybe. You'll look as pretty as a strawberry in a patch.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I think so, too.”

This time when he pushed, she kicked her feet.

“You want to go a little higher?”

“Yes.”

“A lot or a little?”

“A little.” That caution still lurked in her. He liked it. Caution wasn't a bad thing in a girl.

This time when she got to the peak, she giggled. A happy sound he heard from her too seldom.

“Now that was pretty. Sounded like music on the wind.”

“What?”

“Your laughter. I don't think I've heard you laugh like that before.”

She frowned at him. “I laugh all the time.”

Not like that. Like nothing could touch her. “I'll have to pay more attention.”

She enjoyed the swing for a while. Not chattering, just riding the curve. If Cole hadn't been paying attention, he would have missed the tightening of her energy. But he was. She was building to something.

“Are you going to stay with my mommy?”

He looked at her. That was out of the bushes. “I'm planning on it.”

They hadn't heard back from the council yet, but he wasn't expecting trouble in that department. Not with the union consummated.

“Jenny says it's not your decision.”

Jenny was Clark's stepdaughter, he remembered. “Jenny doesn't know everything.”

“Whose decision is it?” Wendy asked. “Clark's?”

“Clark doesn't have a say in anything you do anymore.” That needed to be clear.

“That's what Mama said.”

“But you didn't believe her?”

She shook her head. “He's a big man and mean.”

“I'm meaner.”

“It doesn't make any difference how mean you are if you're not going to stay.”

“I'm not planning on leaving.”

“Then why isn't Mommy smiling?”

He didn't have an answer for that he could share. “Life is sometimes complicated.”

This time it was a glare she threw over her shoulder. “You like her.”

“Yes, I do.”

“She likes you.”

“Yes, she does.”

“It's simple, then.”

It really was from a child's perspective.

“Your mom and I are different.”

“Because you're like me?”

“Like you?”

“Not Reaper.”

She was awfully young to grasp that difference.

He gave the swing a maintenance push. “Does it bother you not to be Reaper?”

She nodded and swung her feet. He took his cue and pushed her a little bit higher.

“Why?”

“Because I'm weak and it bothers everyone.”

She'd picked up on that well enough. He wondered if Miranda knew.

“Do you know why it bothers them?” she asked.

He wasn't sure how to reply at first. It seemed trite to say she was a woman and didn't need to worry about being strong, but people, whether Reaper or human, could be like chickens picking at the color red when someone different sat in their midst. And that had to eat at a child as perceptive and sensitive as Wendy.

“People tend to worry at things that are different. Doesn't mean that thing's bad, it just means it's different.”

“So they're worried about me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”