by Lora Leigh
His hand stroked over her hip, his head lowered. His fingers moved to her thigh, his mouth sucked in her other nipple, and his fingers crazed the super-slick swollen folds of her sex.
“Oh God, no.”
What was happening to her? Something, something dark, primal, something unbidden, rose inside her, thrust her hips against his hand as her thighs closed on it.
“No.” Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands splaying against the back of his head as he tried to move. “Micah. Help me.”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling, where she was flying, and the frightening roller coaster of sensations was tearing her apart.
“Easy, love. I have you.” He spread small kisses over her breasts as her hips writhed, the hand trapped between her thighs doing her bidding now, almost. Oh God, almost.
Then two fingers curled, parted her flesh, and notched against the entrance to her pussy.
Risa closed her eyes and fought the tears, fought the fear. She stilled beneath him, panting, waiting for the pain.
“Look at me, Risa,” he crooned, his lips caressing her jaw now, brushing against her lips. “Open your pretty eyes. You promised to watch me, yes?”
Her lashes fluttered open. She saw him, but she was aware of little else than the slightest impalement between her thighs.
“Part your legs for me. Loosen for me, Risa. How can I please you if you’re stiff against me?”
His wrist flexed between her thighs, raked against her sensitive clit, and sent a gasp of a breath falling from her lips.
“There.” He gentled her with his voice, his eyes. “Part your legs, sweet. Let me show you how beautiful your passion is. Come now; open for me.”
She forced her thighs to part. Whimpering cries lodged in her throat as she spread her legs.
“A little more, darling.” She parted them farther, watching his eyes, his face. “Look, sweetheart,” he urged her then, his gaze moving from hers and following to the point where his hand cupped her mound.
Risa’s eyes widened, her hips arched, knees bending as she lifted to him, desperate to feel what she knew would be nothing more than pain.
“Slow and easy,” he whispered at her ear. “Watch, love. Slow and easy.”
His fingers curved, tilted, and entered.
Risa felt herself shaking, felt the slow slide of her juices meeting his fingers as her inner muscles tightened around the penetration, clenching and spasming as her back arched and pleasure tore through her. Pleasure or pain. A mix of burning relief and agonizing tension.
“Fuck me, yes,” he suddenly groaned, his teeth nipping at her ear. “Take my fingers, Risa. Just my fingers.”
They surged deeper as she lifted to them, her nails digging into his shoulders now, her flesh rioting with a surge of insane hunger. It was tearing through her, tightening her, making her crazed for more.
“Micah, I’m scared!” She hated it. There was nothing so humiliating as admitting it, as feeling the tears that slid from the corners of her eyes and met his lips.
“No fear, Risa.” His fingers stilled inside her. “See, no pain, no fear.”
No pain, no fear. That made sense. She drew in a shaking breath and clenched around his fingers again.
There was no pain, no fear.
“Now.” She turned her head to meet his gaze. “Take me now.”
She couldn’t wait. The fears were building in her along with the pulse and power of the pleasure. Her mind fought her body; distant memories clashed in her head.
She kept her eyes on his. She fought to push back the past. His eyes anchored her, steadied her.
“You’re not ready yet,” he whispered. “Soon.”
“Now.” She shook her head as he moved, spreading kisses over her breasts, between her breasts. “I can’t wait, Micah.”
She was frightened to wait. Too many sensations were tearing through her. She felt locked between the past and the present, her mind battling the raging lust that rose like a tide of molten sensation inside her.
“Just a few more minutes, Risa,” he groaned. “Soon.”
His lips moved between her breasts, down her stomach as she fought to breathe. His shoulders pressed her thighs wider; his gaze stayed locked with hers as his fingers moved inside her, pressed deeper, and tore a throttled scream from her as the pleasure shocked the tense muscles, the tender nerve endings.
“I’m dying to taste you,” he whispered, his lips poised over her clit. “Just a sweet kiss, Risa.”
His head lowered. His eyes held hers. His lips pursed, covered her clit and his fingers moved, pulled back, then pushed inside her, parting her flesh with a surge of sensation that terrified her.
She fought for release, she fought to get closer. Her body turned and he flowed with her. On her side, one leg straight, the other bent to accommodate his head, and still his lips suckled at the tender bud between her thighs.
He followed as she twisted back, her heels dug into the bed, her hips arched, and her mind lost the battle with her body. Risa twisted beneath him, thrust into his fingers, his mouth. She was shaking, shuddering with sensation as she fought to breathe.
She needed, needed something. The tension was tearing through her, marking her with the perspiration that dotted her flesh, with her muscles straining for relief. There had to be relief.
“Fuck me, damn you.” The words tore from her lips as her hands moved to his head. She felt like an animal, a creature that hungered for this, only for this.
His fingers moved, thrust, fucked inside her with deep, strong movements as his lips suckled at her clit. His tongue stroked over it, rasping it until she froze at the wave of sensation that suddenly rose inside her. Her eyes flared wide, her muscles locked against it. When it crashed over her, it wasn’t so bad. It was a shudder of pleasure rather than a blinding, horrifying loss of consciousness.
“Ah, Riss.” His head pressed against her abdomen as she shuddered through the little shocks of pleasure, his voice filled with somber regret as his lashes lifted from his eyes and he watched her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, her hips still moving, the need still tearing through her vagina, her womb. “Micah, do something; please do something.”
He rose to his knees, his fingers sliding from her body even as she tried to hold him inside.
Only then did she notice the condom he had somehow managed to work over his heavy, thick erection. His hand stroked over it, spreading her juices over the latex before he gripped the base tight and tensed before her.
“Are you sure, Risa?” His hand gripped her thigh, lifted her leg until her knees were bent, her legs spread wide. “Be sure, love.”
She watched the wide, throbbing head as he came over her. Watched as he drew her hips up along his thighs as he knelt before her. The wide crest of his erection parted the glistening folds of her sex as she licked her lips and pressed closer.
“Slow and easy,” he said again.
The heavy head pressed against her opening, parted it, and began to work inside her. His thighs widened as he came over her, propping his body up with one arm, allowing her to watch. His hips moved, shifted, working his cock inside her, stretching her until she thought she was going to burn alive from the slow, steady impalement.
It was too much. It wasn’t enough. The clawing, vicious talons of lust were tearing through her until she was begging him, arching, her hips working against his, thrusting and pressing him deeper as she fought back the tears.
It was terrifying, but she couldn’t stop. She wanted, she needed, but the dark void that seemed to rush around her was too frightening, too filled with the unknown, with sensations she couldn’t accept.
Above her, Micah groaned her name. His lips lowered to her nipples. He sucked them until she fought the gathering void again. He kissed her, his lips slanting over hers as she ate at his, until the void threatened to rush through her.
/> “Risa, let go, baby.” His voice was dark, shattered with his own pleasure. “I’ll hold you; I swear it.”
Her head shook. She didn’t understand what he wanted, couldn’t make sense of her own body, let alone his words.
“Risa, let it go!” His voice strengthened as his hips churned, his cock thrusting harder, deeper, stroking her into a storm of never-ending sensations. Darkness gathered behind her eyes as the wave rose again, stronger, harder.
Her nails dug into his shoulders; her head dug into the mattress as she fought it, struggled against it. She screamed against it, and once again, when it took her, it wasn’t so bad. She fought it back until it was no more than a small surge, racing through her, shivering over her body as he gave a hard, harsh groan and shuddered above her before stilling.
His breathing was harsh, heavy. His cock inside her pulsed violently, so hard it felt like iron inside her. But he wasn’t coming. She could feel the difference, knew it. He wanted to come, he needed to, but he hadn’t.
The storm eased inside her, leaving her strangely bereft now, as his forehead touched her shoulder and he shuddered against her.
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered, his voice heavy. “I’m so sorry.”
She blinked up at him as he moved from her, pulling free of her as a hard surge of renewed need shook her body. He was moving from the bed before she could get a handle on the pulse of hunger. His hands ran over his hair as he glanced back at her, his expression heavy, his cock still fully erect.
He hadn’t come.
The thought slashed through her like a dull knife. Somehow, she had failed. He hadn’t released. He hadn’t known pleasure.
She swallowed tightly, staring back at him, and he paced to the bathroom.
“Don’t you move!” He turned, pointed his finger back at her, his expression bleak and commanding. “I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, but as the door closed, she jumped from the bed as silently as possible. It took only a moment to jerk her dress over her head, her wrap around her shoulders. She carried her purse and her shoes and she escaped.
Humiliation burned inside her, tightened in her chest, and left her shaking as she took the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator. She raced down them, holding back her sobs, fighting the ultra-sensitivity in her body and screaming inside her mind.
She had failed. A pity fuck, she thought. The big, tough SEAL had felt sorry for her. He had seen her fears and had tried to make it better. But he couldn’t get off. He couldn’t come with her. That was a pity fuck. She was certain it was, and she couldn’t bear it.
After she waved down a cab and gave the driver the address for her apartment, she huddled in the cab and thanked God that she never had to face Micah again.
He should have done as her father’s friend had done. He should have taken her from behind.
A tear fell. The memory attacked her, sharp, brutal, the voice at her ear. Ugly little bitch. I’d never get off if I had to look at your face.
She flinched, covered her mouth, and held back her sobs as she stared into the brightly lit streets of the city. She had hoped she could survive just one night of pleasure. She had been wrong.
CHAPTER 5
MICAH WAS IN a lousy mood the next morning when he showed up at the Federal Building and made his way to the rooms that had been set aside for this morning’s meeting.
He strode through the narrow underground corridor to the appropriate door, knocked, and waited for it to open. Stepping into the darkened room, he glanced through the hidden window in the next room and felt his fists clenching at the sight of Risa, her grandmother Abigail Clay, and their attorney as they sat silently in the other room.
The lawyer looked up, scowled into the mirror that hid the viewers from sight, and glanced at his watch.
Micah’s Elite Ops team was there, as well as Clint, Reno, Kell, Ian, and Kira. The others cast Micah several odd looks before turning back to the window that looked into the consultation room.
“We have the rest of her doctor’s reports.” Jordan, a.k.a. Live Wire, commander of the group, slapped a file in his hand. “Can you believe that old biddie in there browbeat the doctor that’s been overseeing Risa’s care? She had no idea of the long-term effects of the Whore’s Dust.”
Micah snapped the file open, read it quickly, and felt a boiling rage building inside him.
“Does she know yet?” he asked as he read the reports on the tests that Risa was required to take monthly. The presence of the Whore’s Dust in her system hadn’t abated, and put last night into clear perspective for Micah.
It didn’t help the rage building inside him but made it understandable. The Whore’s Dust created an almost violent reaction during intercourse, especially for a woman. The explosive clash of sensations was often terrifying; the sexual release, if it was even attained, was stronger, and only built the need higher.
This was how Risa had handled it. She didn’t let it happen. The toys in her drawer didn’t help. And the night before, in his arms, she had fought her release with such strength that if she’d orgasmed, it had been no more than a weak facsimile of what it could have been.
Damn her.
Damn Fuentes and that fucking drug.
“According to her doctor, and we had to send Nik in to talk to him, Abigail Clay threatened his reputation, both public and private, if he informed her granddaughter of the effects. She stated Risa was terrified enough of her own body; she didn’t want to make matters worse.”
In ways, Micah almost agreed with her.
“Who’s going in to talk to them first?” he asked.
He knew what had to be done. There was a contract on Risa’s life, and the enemy Micah had been searching for for six years was rumored to have been given the job. The same man who had killed his mother, and ultimately his father, was now waiting for the opportunity to slice into Risa as well.
It was tied directly to her kidnapping. The U.S. government had known there were other men involved, especially an as yet unnamed scientist who had been trying to reproduce the date rape drug after the death of Fuentes’s scientist.
Diego Fuentes hadn’t known the scientist. All he had known was that his contact, Jansen Clay, was working with the other man to re-create the drug. Diego had blocked them several times, simply out of greed. He wanted to control the creation he had bankrolled. He hadn’t wanted others’ greedy fingers involved in it.
But why strike at Risa now? The only answer was her medical records. Someone, outside of the government, was finding a way to keep watch on both her medical and psychological files, because in the past months she had begun having flashes of memory. Voices, shadowy faces. She was remembering more than just a hazy, distant dreamlike version of what had happened to her that night and during her stay at the asylum. She was actually beginning to remember details.
“I’ll go in first with the attorney from the Department of Justice,” Jordan finally answered Micah. “We’ll need Risa to sign off on this, otherwise, the DOJ will walk away from her. If he walks out, then we’re pulled off the assignment. Let’s pray she listens to reason.”
Oh, she would listen to reason, one way or the other, Micah promised silently.
He laid the file aside and focused on her now. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Her hair had been pulled back from her face and tied at the back of her neck. Her eyes were shadowed with dark circles, her lips were compressed, and there was a flush mantling her cheeks—remnants of lust. He well understood that, though he knew the strength of it was more from the Whore’s Dust than her inability to climax the night before.
Hell, if he’d had that doctor’s report he would have known what the hell was wrong with her. Instead, the team had relied on the abbreviated report that Abigail Clay had overseen.
That old biddie was so damned protective of Risa now that she was worse than a junkyard dog. The old woman had nearly collapsed when she had learned the truth of what her son had done to her granddaughter. Micah
had heard Kell and Clint’s report of the night they had rescued her from the asylum and contacted the grandmother. When she had arrived at the hospital and learned the truth of what had happened, the grandmother had attacked Clint. Not because her son was dead but because she hadn’t been able to kill him herself.
She had overseen her granddaughter ever since, despite Risa’s refusal to allow it.
“The attorney is here, Jordan.” Nik opened the door and stuck his head inside, his long Nordic blond hair falling over his face, his icy blue eyes piercing the darkness. “He says rock and roll.”
Jordan nodded, collected his files, and left the room.
Micah turned his attention to the room.
Risa sat in full view of the mirror, giving Micah a clear view of her from the other side. Those damned baggy clothes she was wearing pissed him off. The long white blouse was pulled out over loose slacks. She wore flat shoes. She was hiding. If she thought dressing like a bag lady was going to still his desire, then she’d better think again.
He inhaled slowly, deeply, and watched as the federal attorney stepped inside with Jordan.
“Mr. Landowne. Ladies.” The attorney nodded to them as he took his seat at the end of the table. Jordan sat at the other end, remaining silent.
“What’s the meaning of this, Carl?” Attorney Landowne flashed the federal attorney a glare. “Since when do you call me Mister?”
“Sorry, Marion.” The federal attorney grimaced. “This is official. We have some news that affects your client, and an official proposition for her. I wasn’t certain you’d want to keep this on a first-name basis under those circumstances.”
Carl Stephens stared back at the private attorney coolly. Stephens’s graying brown hair was brushed back from his face, his hazel eyes were somber.
“What is the meaning of this?” Abigail Clay leaned forward in her chair, her renowned fiery temper sparkling in her light blue eyes. “Carl, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. You were a friend of the family for years, before Jansen’s evil infected that relationship. Don’t start pulling bull on me, because I know you too well to tolerate it.”