TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) (39 page)

His hand rushed around her belly, then up under her tank. His hot fingers streaked across her abs, grasped the cup of her bra, and jerked it down. The strap cut into her shoulder, and she pressed her lips together against the pain, then his fingers found her nipple and squeezed hard, making her cry out from the sudden jolt.

“You should be. You should be very afraid. What’s inside me is a thousand times more evil than what’s in him.”

He was talking about Zagreus. But he was wrong. He was strength and honor and compassion. He’d shown that to her more times than she could count. Zagreus wasn’t any of those things. And until Krónos’s dark energy claimed Nick for good, she’d do whatever she could to prove that fact to him.

She bit into her lip hard to keep from whimpering as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, as he jerked the other side of her bra down and tormented the other breast. Yes, it hurt. But the shock of that initial pressure was more painful than the actual act. The longer he rolled and tweaked and twisted, the faster her pulse raced. And the stronger the tingles grew that were suddenly shooting from her breasts straight between her legs.

Her sex grew hot and achy, her body tight and eager. She pushed back into him, feeling his strong thighs against the backs of her legs and his hard erection pressing into her spine. Dropping her forehead against the wall, she struggled to find her voice. “I’m…I’m not going to fight you, Nick.”

“Oh, you will.” He released her nipple, closed his whole hand around her breast, and squeezed until pain lit up the entire mass. His other hand pulled free of her bra. He grasped her skirt at her thigh, hiking it up until cold air washed over her legs. Then he shoved his hand between her thighs, gripped her panties, and ripped.
 

She jerked in surprise, but then his fingers were sliding along her folds, sending tingles through every cell in her body, and she couldn’t hold back the moan that rumbled from her throat.

“You like that?” he growled near her ear.

She closed her eyes and rocked back against him, wanting more. “Yes.”

He stroked up, then down, his fingers creating a delicious friction that made her entire body shiver. “Like this?”

Oh gods…
“Y-yes.”

He thrust up inside her with two fingers, and she gasped. “You like being used?” His voice was hard. Cold. Cruel. Nothing she recognized. His fingers slid out, then drove back in, and his thumb circled her clit. “Is this what you did for Zagreus? Let him fuck you in a back alley like a whore?”

His ugly words dimmed her pleasure, and her eyes popped open, her gut reaction to lash out, to tell him to go to hell. But she didn’t. Because she knew he’d had plenty of opportunities to say just that before and mean it, only he hadn’t. Which meant this wasn’t him. It was that vile piece of Krónos inside pushing him to hurt her, to make her fight back, to force her to run so it could finally claim him.
 

She swallowed hard and rocked back against his hand. Still not willing—never willing—to let the gods have him. “Not him, only you. I only want you. Don’t stop.”

He thrust deeper with his fingers, harder. And his voice grew even more menacing when he growled, “You want to get fucked? Is that what you want?”

She knew she’d probably be sore tomorrow, likely bruised, but she didn’t care. Because this was too important. “Yes,” she groaned, leaning back against him. “Yes. By you.”
 

 
He released her breast, grasped her skirt at the back, and jerked it up. Cool air swept over the backs of her legs, then denim brushed across her bare ass as he ground the rigid length of his cock against her. “You’re a wicked little slut, aren’t you?”

For you. Only for you.

Her fingers curled against the wall as he continued to fuck into her with his hand. Pleasure zinged along her nerve endings. He was stroking that perfect place deep inside, driving her harder toward the crest. His thumb flicked her clit again and again. His hips pressed against her ass, his cock rubbing right between her cheeks. It was wrong…so wrong…to be enjoying this, but she couldn’t help it. Because with him, she enjoyed everything—hard, rough, soft, sweet—it didn’t matter how. It didn’t matter when. It just mattered that it was with him.

She dropped her head back against his shoulder, couldn’t hold it up, couldn’t do anything but let him take her wherever he wanted to go. “Nick… Oh gods. Nick…”
 

He bit down hard on her earlobe, and the mixture of pleasure and pain shoved her over the edge. Her entire body was swept up in a whirlwind of light and ecstasy so intense, it stole her breath, shook her body, and dragged her straight into a tunnel of utter blackness.

 
When she came to, her face was pressed against the building, her chest rising and falling with her shallow breaths. Her mind was foggy, her body limp. But she recognized Nick still pressed up against her back, his forehead resting against her temple, his hot breath rushing down her neck. Yet more than anything, she knew his voice.
His
voice—not that angry, ugly thing that had been growling in her ear only moments before. This was his soft, familiar voice whispering her name over and over as she clawed herself back from a climax so strong she’d blacked out.

She was wrecked, dazed, wanted only to rest. But she didn’t know how long his lucidity would last, and more than anything, she needed to drag him back to her for good.

Pushing away from the wall, she turned so she was facing him, then lifted her fingers to his scruffy jaw. Her skirt fell to her feet. Her jacket was torn at the shoulder, but she didn’t care. She focused only on him. On his hands braced on either side of her, on his forehead resting on her shoulder. His body trembled as if he were dazed too, but strength simmered beneath his rigid muscles, just waiting to be unleashed. And she feared this was only the eye of the storm. That if she didn’t do something fast, she’d lose him for good.

“Nick.” She lifted his face away from her shoulder, pressed her mouth against the scar on his cheek, trailed her lips to his temple, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth. “Stay with me. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go. No matter what happens. Focus only on me.”

She kissed his other cheek, his jaw, worked her way back to his mouth.

He stiffened against her. “Shit. Cynna.”

“Yes.” Gently, she kissed his lips. “Say my name. As many times as it takes. I’m not letting them have you.” She tipped her head the other direction, kissed him again. “I won’t let you fall. I won’t ever let you fall.”

A growl built low in his throat, and every muscle in his body tensed. And as he opened his mouth over hers, pushing his tongue forcefully between her lips and shoving her back into the wall again, she steeled herself for another wave of anger, of malevolence, of dark, viscous energy.
 

“Don’t go too far. I may need you…”

He did need her. Not because she was special, not because she was his soul mate. But because they were alike. They understood each other. They’d both danced with the devil, and she was determined to make sure they both survived.

She opened to his bruising kiss, dragged her tongue against his even though she knew he was trying to hurt her again, and kissed him back. Trailing her fingers up into his hair, she tugged hard on the soft strands between her fingertips and met his kiss with the same ferocity, the same energy, the same strength he was showering on her. And the moment she did, something inside him shifted.

She felt it pop, like a balloon exploding. Felt it ripple all through his limbs. His muscles instantly relaxed. His kiss gentled. Against her belly he was still hard and aroused, but the anger that had been driving him—the savagery—it dissipated like water evaporating into air. And was replaced by a wave of heat and hunger and need she felt all the way to her toes.

“Cynna…” His hand slipped around her nape; his fingertips softly rubbed her skin as he kissed her, again and again. His voice grew weak, strained, but was filled with a panicked urgency, as if he were afraid he was going to lose her. “Cynna…”

Her heart swelled. She wound her hands around his waist and walked her fingers up his spine, gentling her own kiss, showing him with her mouth and body that she felt the same way, that she still wasn’t leaving. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t stop kissing me, Nick.”

One hand closed around her breast to squeeze, and his tongue tangled with hers in an erotic dance. But it wasn’t the hard bruising grasp of before. This was softer, more electrifying, and tingles ignited all through her torso and shot straight back down into her sex, reigniting every ounce of her arousal. Grasping her skirt at the thigh, he dragged it up again, then carefully lifted her leg and hooked it around his hip.

“Cynna…” He rocked against her and dropped his forehead to hers, struggling to find his breath while his hard length rubbed over her clit. “Ah gods, Cynna… I need to be inside you.”

He was asking, not telling. His thumb brushed over her nipple, sending shards of desire straight into her core. Giving, not taking. Her heart swelled even more because he was back. She hadn’t lost him. He was still hers.

“Yes.” She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him slowly, deeply, then reached for the button at his waistband and popped it free. “Yes, I need that too. But mostly, I just need you.”

She slid her hand inside his pants. He groaned and sank into her kiss. As her fingertips brushed over his pulsing length, so hard and engorged, she pushed against the fabric at his hips, desperate to free him so she could feel him moving inside her.

He lifted his mouth from hers abruptly. Fear rushed back in, that she’d misread things, that he was still on the edge. But he didn’t grab her or push her or even reach for her. Instead, he turned his face toward the entrance to the alley and went completely still.
 

“What—”

“Shh.”
 

Her fingers froze inside his pants, the other hand against his hip, and she turned to see what he was looking at. Only she couldn’t see anything but the fading afternoon light. And she didn’t hear anything other than her roaring pulse and his shallow breaths.

“Nick?”

He stepped quickly away, dislodging her hands from his body, then lowered her leg and dropped her skirt. Buttoning his jeans, he said, “Someone’s coming.”

Cynna didn’t care if someone was approaching or not. “I don’t hear anything.” She reached for him. “Come here.”

“Shh.” Gently, he pushed her hands away. “Fix your shirt. They’re almost here.”

Frustrated, Cynna pushed away from the wall and tugged down her shirt, hating the chill that spread over her skin after all his delicious heat. He wasn’t looking at her. She needed him to look at her. “Nick—”

“I’m pretty sure he went this way,” a voice called somewhere close.

Skata
. Her gaze shot to the right. He was right. People were coming. Stomach tightening, Cynna stepped away from the wall and tried to smooth out her skirt. But Nick’s hand around her arm stopped her.

She drew in a breath and looked up. His eyes were warm pools of liquid amber as he moved in close, cradled her face in his hands, then lowered his mouth to hers in the sweetest, softest kiss. And every bit of fear, of frustration, of worry slid right out of her with that simple brush of his lips over hers.
 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I know what you did.” He rested his forehead against hers and drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry I can’t control it. Sorry I did that to you. I—”

“Shh.” She lifted her fingers to his jaw and brushed them over his scruffy cheek. “No apologies. I’m not hurt. Not even close. And I meant what I said. I’m not leaving. I’ll do whatever it takes—as many times as it takes—to bring you back.”

He groaned, took her lips in a swift, delicious kiss, then released her. “I’ll make this up to you. I promise.”

He took a step away before she was ready to let him go, and as the cool afternoon air replaced all his sultry heat, her heart took a hard, irretrievable tumble. Because she knew right then that what she felt for him was stronger than love. It was the kind of emotion a person was willing to sacrifice everything for.
 

“Nick?” a male voice rang out from the end of the alley. “Shit, man. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Cynna swallowed hard and turned. Two males stalked toward them from the end of the alley. The first was tall and blond, the second more muscular, his eyes more intense. A whisper of worry rushed down her spine because she recognized both of them from the day she and Nick had been brought to the castle. The second especially, because he was the leader of the Argonauts.

 
“Zander,” Nick said, glancing toward the blond, then shifting his gaze to the other male. “Theron. What’s wrong?”

“You need to come back to the castle ASAP,” Theron said.

Concern flooded Nick’s features, and though Cynna knew he couldn’t help it because of the whole soul mate thing, a sick feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach. “Why? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Theron said. “Or they will be soon. Callia’s figured out what you need to do to help Isadora.”

Of course this was about Isadora. Everything was always about Isadora. Cynna tried to fight back the resentment and jealousy, but couldn’t squash either completely.