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by Maya Banks
His hands left her head long enough to collect her bandaged hands, sorrow once more filling him at the desperation it had taken for her to do this to herself. To actually try and end her precious life.
Carefully, as if they were the most fragile and cherished things in the world, he placed her palms down on top of his thighs, roped with thick muscles, hardened by the many years of relentless training and use.
He pressed her thumb into his flesh, looking at her as he did so. “That’s all you need to do. And I’ll stop. Immediately.”
She frowned and shook her head. “Hancock, I like touching you. I’m sure I’ll be squeezing you a lot. There has to be another signal. My hands will never stay still.”
He smiled. “Yes. They will. Because I’m telling you they will. Don’t move your hands, Honor. Only if you want me to stop. Do you understand?”
She shivered at the demand, the dominance he couldn’t keep from his voice. Her submission, what a gift. If only he could have this for a lifetime. Yes, he would absolutely dominate her entire life. He would control every aspect of her life. But there would never live a more pampered, spoiled, cherished-beyond-measure woman than this woman here. His dominance would be of love and his need to protect and provide. Never to punish, to be a controlling asshole. Everything. All things. It would all be for her. His life. His very existence. His only goal to please her and make her happy.
“I understand,” she whispered, her eyes glittering with need. Her lips parted and she licked over them as if she couldn’t wait another moment for his cock.
He gave it to her, feeding it inch by agonizingly slow inch, stopping to allow her to grow accustomed to his size. He knew without false modesty that he was not a small man. Nor was he average. Women had refused him after seeing his size. Others had groaned, unbelieving of their luck.
To him it was just an appendage. Another weapon in an arsenal he carried with him at all times. Only now was he aware that he could hurt Honor. That he could frighten her. That his size could very well intimidate her and make her think she wasn’t capable of pleasing him. As if.
“Okay?” he whispered when his dick was halfway inside her silken mouth.
Her eyes answered for her, glowing brightly, a clear invitation for more. Hell, it was a demand. But her hands remained still, just as he knew they would once he’d made the demand. He also knew that she would never stop him, no matter how far he took things, and he was mindful of that every second.
He paused, withdrew and this time pushed with more force, eliciting a gasp as her cheeks bulged outward. But she quickly calmed herself, exhaling through her nose, and he felt her relax around his girth, sucking him further inward.
He withdrew, and each time he thrust farther, gaining more depth, each time measuring her response, looking for any sign that he was pushing too far. Scaring her. Hurting her. And every time, she gave him a hungry look that told him she only wanted more.
Convinced that she wasn’t going to shatter, he finally gave in to the beast inside roaring to take control and find his pleasure. To dominate, take over and take what was his at least for this one night.
Never once did her fingers tighten. Her thumb, instead of pressing into his skin, the signal he’d given her that meant it was too much, caressed him, rubbing lightly in circles, humming around his cock in satisfaction.
Just touching him brought her pleasure.
It baffled him. He didn’t understand this—her—this connection. Her easy acceptance of him. Of what he was. Of his needs that many would call twisted. Sick. Perverse. She accepted them as naturally as she would breathing.
He became rougher, though he was ever mindful of every single injury and where he could and couldn’t touch her.
But then he could stand no more and he framed her face in his large hands and held her firmly, giving her no choice but to kneel there and take whatever he chose to do. He fucked her hard and long, stopping when he was at his deepest and reveling in her swallowing delicately around the head of his dick, sucking down the sips of pre-cum, merely a precursor of what was to come.
He knew she expected him to come in her mouth, but he had other plans. Primitive. Animalistic. All traits he knew existed within the monster he was.
Then he eased out, letting her catch her breath. He glanced down at her, allowing what he felt to show in his eyes. To let her know that she mattered. He’d said it many times, but this time he gave her the evidence. What he never gave anyone else. Himself, unguarded. His eyes not shielded. She gasped and tears gathered in her eyes, then slowly trickled down her face, colliding with the hands that held her so firmly in place.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, Honor,” he said, his voice harsh, laced with drugged passion.
“Please,” she softly entreated as the tip of his dick rested on her lips. “Give me everything, Hancock. I want so badly to please you. To give you back what you gave to me. There is nothing you can do to make me reject you.”
With a guttural cry, he drove hard, almost punishingly to the very back of her throat, stealing her breath. He didn’t bother remaining there. He was so close. So very close to coming. And he wanted this. Fucking her mouth. Marking her. She was his for tonight. And she would know it.
He fucked long and hard. She struggled for breath, but quickly adapted and learned how to breathe as he withdrew. When he felt the first burst of semen splash onto her tongue, his iron control nearly deserted him and he nearly stayed there, filling her mouth with his essence.
Instead he allowed her that taste. Just the one. So she’d go to sleep smelling him, his taste in her mouth.
When he withdrew, she protested and her eyes were hurt, shadowed. As if she thought she’d done something wrong. He caressed her cheek with one hand, holding his engorged cock with the other.
He slid his hand down underneath her chin and lifted, baring her neck, and then he began to pump his dick with his hand, hard, nearly vicious. Thick white ropes splashed onto her neck and then he directed it onto her breasts, coating each one, her nipples and then finally her face, pressing his erection to her satiny flesh so it didn’t just fly all over her skin, uncontrolled, so it didn’t hit her in the eyes.
He smeared his release on her cheeks and then over her lips, coating them like lipstick and then as the last came, he pushed inside her mouth again, deep, hard, and stayed there as he pulsed against the very back of her throat. Spending himself to the very last drop there in the honeyed silk of her luscious mouth.
He could spend forever there.
She licked over his slowly softening shaft, sucking tenderly, as if she knew how hypersensitive he was now that he’d orgasmed. She cupped his balls with one hand, stroking them lovingly as she cleaned every last drop of his semen from his dick.
When he finally slipped free of her mouth, she cupped his waning erection in her palms and pressed a kiss to the head, licking ever so lightly at the slit as she fondled his sac.
Then she looked up at him, her heart in her eyes, tears glistening, tiny diamonds attached to her lashes.
“Thank you,” she whispered in a husky voice. “I’ll never forget this night. Or you.”
CHAPTER 28
HONOR lay nestled in Hancock’s arms, her cheek resting on his chest, his chin atop her head. They lay in silence, Honor’s arm wrapped tightly around Hancock’s waist, wanting to keep him here, next to her, for as long as possible. Every minute that went by was another minute closer to dawn and the end of their night together.
He stroked his fingers through her hair, over and over. Just caressing, absently almost, as if he were pondering something important.
She loved him.
Agony seared through her body, worse than any pain she’d ever experienced. All the injuries, the battering she’d taken in the attack, the bullet she’d taken for Conrad, Bristow’s two attacks on her. Nothing hurt worse than loving this man and knowing that in another day’s time he would turn her over to Maksimov and she’d never see him again.
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It was the hardest thing, and it mustered every ounce of her self-control not to weep for all that was lost. But she refused to give in. Because Hancock was hurting too. She knew it. He was quiet. He hadn’t said a single word since he’d gently kissed her forehead after she’d thanked him and had said, “No, my darling Honor. Thank you. You are the first time I’ve ever tasted sunshine.”
Then he’d taken her into the bathroom and into a warm shower where he washed every inch of her body, taking special care with her injuries. He’d even shampooed her hair, massaging gently before rinsing the soap from the long strands. After thoroughly drying her, he’d rebandaged what needed bandaging, applying antibiotic cream and a numbing agent to prevent pain. Then he’d finished drying her hair, taken her into the bedroom and pulled her between his legs as he sat with his back propped against the headboard, and he’d combed the tangles.
She was nearly asleep when he eased her down on her uninjured side and simply wrapped himself around her, tucking her head beneath her chin, and held her.
But neither slept, and neither spoke. What was there to say anyway? They both knew what had to be done. What would be done. And she had only one regret. Just one. Not the attack on the clinic, not her running in constant fear, not Hancock’s initial betrayal, not even Bristow’s attack. Because it had all led to this one beautiful night. No, her only regret was that she only had this one night.
He’d given her the most beautiful night of her life, but he’d also shown her what she would never have, and she craved it as she’d never craved anything in her life. Being with Hancock? Having his dominance, his caring, protection, his utter devotion to doing whatever it took to make her happy?
She wanted to weep because as much as she’d wanted this night, she almost wished she’d never gotten a taste of what was now forbidden fruit. You couldn’t mourn what you never had.
Hancock was tense, agitated. She could feel his body vibrating, how tightly he held her. His grip was almost bruising and it was painful at times, but she never said a word, not wanting to lose his touch. If he thought he was hurting her, he would immediately put distance between them, and that she couldn’t bear. A little pain was a small price to pay to lie in his arms for the few short hours they had left together.
She’d asked him for tonight. Only tonight. But would he make love to her again tomorrow night? Knowing that it truly would be their last night together? That the following morning they’d leave for him to turn her over to Maksimov?
Or would he spend that night hardening himself, turning back into the Hancock everyone but her saw? The machine. The emotionless mercenary who thought nothing of turning a woman over to a man if it accomplished his goal.
Yes, that was the more likely possibility. He would distance himself from her. He’d wake her with those cold eyes and implacable features. He’d treat her as the prisoner she was. Oh, he wouldn’t hurt her physically. But he would treat her as a thing. Dispassionately and as though she were of no importance whatsoever. Because it was the only way he would be able to withstand what he had to do. And she knew it hurt him. No one else would know. But she did and would.
That didn’t hurt her, that he would harden himself and become a shell of his true self. She knew it was the way he endured—had endured—all these years of loneliness. What hurt her was that she’d never see him again. Nothing Maksimov or ANE would do to her could possibly compare to the agony of knowing love for such a short time, of tasting passion that couldn’t possibly be common, of sharing an intimate bond with the real Hancock. The Hancock that only she saw. And would never see again.
Whatever Maksimov and ANE did, she could take. She’d even welcome it because it would give her respite from the very real pain of losing Hancock. And when death came for her, she would welcome it, because then she wouldn’t feel at all.
She closed her eyes, a sense of peace enveloping her. Her life hadn’t been for nothing. For one magical night, she’d experienced love. She’d loved and been loved in return. This night was worth everything that had come before and all that would come after. Because it gave her this. And this was worth dying for.
“I can’t let you go.”
Hancock’s words, guttural with agony and despair, startled her, breaking the heavy silence and the thoughts she’d been lost in.
His hold on her tightened until she could no longer contain the wince. He didn’t even notice.
“I can’t do it, Honor. I can’t. I won’t. Goddamn it, I won’t do it!”
He was seething, his entire body tense, his muscles rippling with rage. His face, if she didn’t know the man beneath, would terrify her. He looked like what he’d been labeled his entire life. A ruthless, merciless killer.
She gently pried herself away from him, just enough that she could lean up and face him fully, her puzzlement not disguised.
“Hancock?” she whispered tentatively.
She had no idea what he meant. What he was saying. She was utterly confused.
His face was a wreath of torment. Agony blazed in his eyes and he looked as though he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Had this been what he’d been thinking of so intently the last hours as they’d lain in silence, him holding on to her as if afraid she’d simply disappear? Had he been planning this all the while, or had he simply made an impulse decision? An irrational bid to hold on to the night as much as she wanted to hold on.
He reached up to touch her cheek and she couldn’t help herself. She nuzzled into his palm and turned to kiss it but then returned her gaze to his, questioning. Not understanding what was happening here. Whatever it was . . . it was huge. And it made her very afraid. Not for herself. But for him.
“I need you to listen to me, Honor. And I need you to understand. I will not give you up,” he said fiercely. “There isn’t a force strong enough in this world to ever make me give you up. Do you understand?”
Her brow furrowed. “But Maksimov . . .”
“Fuck Maksimov,” he said savagely. “And fuck the goddamn greater good. I’ve been an instrument for the greater good my entire life and I’ve never, never asked for one goddamn thing for myself. I’ve never expected something for myself. I’ve never had one thing that’s all my own. Only mine. But I have you, Honor. And I will not give you up. Ever.”
Fear was sharp and bitter in her mouth. She stared at Hancock, allowing every ounce of that fear to show. She was terrified. For him. And for what she thought he was telling her.
“But Hancock, if you don’t give Maksimov what he wants . . . You’ve told me who and what he is. He’ll kill you. He’ll hunt you down like some animal. From what you told me about him, about the kind of man he is, I can well imagine that time means nothing to him. That he’ll wait months, years, however long it takes, but he’ll kill you. No matter how long it takes to exact revenge. He’ll wait and he’ll strike. I can’t, I won’t let that happen, Hancock. You constantly tell me that I matter. Goddamn it, Hancock, you matter,” she raged. “You matter! You matter to this world. The world needs you. You matter to me! You said my sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, that it served the greater good. Then don’t let my sacrifice be wasted! I would never trade my life for yours. Never!”
“And you think you don’t matter to me?” he roared. “Do you think I’m going to just hand you over to him and walk away knowing that he’ll repeatedly rape you, that his men will rape you? Whomever he wishes to reward will rape you. He’ll torture you just because he enjoys it. And then he’ll turn you over to ANE and every imaginable horror you can possibly imagine, they will do them all to you. When and only when you are so near death that you can no longer withstand their constant brutality, they’ll kill you, but it won’t be merciful and it will not be swift. They’ll drag you into the middle of whatever village they occupy and they’ll inflict as many wounds as possible so that you die a slow, horrific death, and then they’ll leave your corpse to rot and decompose and no one will move you for fear they’ll be killed for interferi
ng.”
She shuddered at the very real images he invoked. Tears ran down her cheeks. Theirs was an impossible situation and she knew it, even if he didn’t admit to knowing the same. They were doomed. They could never be together. If she didn’t die, then Hancock would.
“I will not trade my life for yours,” she repeated, horrible rage building and swelling until it was an inferno. “You are a good man. I don’t care what or who you think you are. I see you, Hancock. I see you. The world needs you.”
“And I need you,” he seethed. “You are the one thing I want—need—above all else. I need you, Honor. What kind of man would I be if I led you to your rape, torture and eventual slaughter? Do you honestly think I could continue on like nothing had ever happened? Do you think I would survive it? That I could continue on, fighting the good fight, fighting for the greater good when you are the greater good and I killed you. I murdered you. I let you be raped and tortured. Do you think I’d sleep at night imagining you in their hands? Do you think the world would be a better place with me in it? I’d turn into a monster unlike this world has ever seen, and I wouldn’t give a fuck about the greater good because my greater good was destroyed by me.”
She leaned her forehead to his, her tears dripping onto his face. “What are we going to do?” she whispered brokenly.
“We’re going to make the exchange.”
Honor looked at him in shock.
“We’re going to set it up so that it looks exactly as it should. And then my men and I are going to take out Maksimov. I will not give you to him, Honor. Do you understand that? Do you trust me? I will not give you to him.”
She swallowed, the beginnings of hope blossoming, and she tried, oh how she tried, to tamp them down because hope was such a dangerous and delicate thing. So easily broken and yet so easily nurtured.