Bound Guardian Angel (57 page)

Without hesitation, she complied and laid
her hand on his arm as he slid his palm between her legs, letting
his fingers part her and return to the slick warmth that spilled
from her like honey. Now that the fiery urgency they’d experienced
in the hall had subsided, he relished the long, sweet exploration
of her body.

“You’re so wet.” He gently swirled his
fingertips in her nectar and felt the raised, firm nubbin beneath
the pad of his middle finger. Her clitoris. Cordray sucked in her
breath as he circled it.

The way her body writhed as he continued to
tease her clit drove him crazy.

“I love how you move. How you use your body
to show me what you like.” He lowered his head and kissed the side
of her breast as he urged his middle finger inside her.

She pressed her hand to the back of his head
and moaned, her body twisting toward his.

“I love the noises you make.” He laved his
tongue over her rosy nipple, closed his lips over the puckered nub,
and swirled his tongue as he did the same with the butt of his hand
against her clit.

“Trace . . .” An urgent
undercurrent simmered beneath her whisper. Her fingers curled on
his skull, her nails digging into his skin.

“Mmmmm.” He couldn’t get enough of her. The
way her body quivered, her taste, her heat. The bite of pain from
her nails on the back of his head.

“Trace.” Her hips ground against his hand,
which he pressed more demandingly against her.

He was halfway on her body now, his leg
slung over one of hers, his erection pressing against her hip. He
feasted on her breast, stroked her inside and out with his right
hand, which trembled against her from a new sense of power, one he
had never felt before.

“Cordray . . .” His fangs
extended, his hunger approaching insatiable levels. He needed her.
All of her. Blood, body, and soul.

“Please, Trace. More. God, please.”

Panting through his nose, Trace’s eyes shot
open and cast a yellow glow against her skin and the red-satin
sheets, making them appear a deep shade of orange. His sight was
hunter sharp. Was this normal?

Before he could conjure an answer, instinct
took over. He growled and sank his fangs into her breast.

She gasped, spasmed, and the moment her
blood touched his tongue, power surged down his arm. His hand
clenched, and he drove his palm against her, curled his finger
inside her, and felt power rocket from his palm. A split-second
later, Cordray cried out and fell into ecstatic convulsions beneath
him. Moisture flooded his palm, heated his skin, sent bolts of
electricity through him. He ejaculated no more than a second later,
spilling against her hip as he grunted and ground himself against
her body.

For what felt like five minutes, wave after
wave of orgasmic pleasure ebbed and flowed between them, sending
them into shuddering aftershocks every few seconds. By the time
Trace could actually move again to withdraw his fangs and his
finger, the sheets were completely soiled. He had never come so
hard or so much in his life. And from the slickness on his palm,
neither had she.

“Fuck!” He lifted off of her. They were
drenched in sweat. Cordray’s body practically glowed. No. It
was
glowing. A dim, pulsing light emanated from under her
skin then began to fade.

She uttered one last gasp, turned amazed,
infatuated eyes on him, and then slapped him across the face.

Starbursts erupted down his spine. “What the
hell?” Not that he was complaining. She’d just caught him off
guard.

She swallowed, breathed, and then smiled. “I
just wanted to say thank you.”

Ignoring the mess he’d made on her, himself,
and the bed, he snuggled closer. “And hitting me was your way of
doing that?”

With a breathless nod, her gaze ranged up
and down his body. “Slapping you was the first thing that came to
mind.”

“Of course.” He grinned as their eyes met
again. “But you should be more careful.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I like when you slap me.” They were
practically nose to nose. “It turns me on.”

“I know it does.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Tease.”

“You’re amazing,” she said. “Fucking
amazing.” Her head shook subtly from side to side as if in
disbelief.

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing
about you. That was the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”

A devilish grin crossed her face, and a
frisky twinkle lit in her eyes as she bit her bottom lip then said,
“Can you imagine how hot that would have been if you’d actually
been inside me?”

He could almost read her mind, and his own
evil smile spread over his face. “Are you thinking what I’m
thinking?”

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him on
top of her then wrapped her hand around his still-hard cock. “You
know I am.”

He felt the niggling sensation of her mind
burrowing into his. He only smiled wider as she raised her hips and
positioned the head of his cock at her silken entrance.

“We’re going to have to work on your
communication skills, female.” He nudged forward an inch.

She moaned. “Shut up and fuck me, Trace.
How’s that?”

Oh, God. Dirty talk. His cock hiccupped in
approval. “Perfect.” He drove himself inside. “Now, keep talking,
bitch.”

She grinned, showing her fangs. “Oh, you are
in
sooo
much trouble.”

He shoved her legs farther apart with his
knees, gripped her wrists, and slammed them against the mattress.
“I certainly hope so.”

Chapter 34

Cordray stirred awake to the sensation of fingers
caressing her face, from her temple, down her cheek, to her mouth.
She sighed and burrowed closer to the solid, warm body she was
tucked against. The thick arm wrapped around her coiled tighter,
securing her inside its protective hold.

She blinked her eyes open to find Trace
gazing at her from hooded eyes. Bedroom eyes. At once confident and
seductive, like he was a male in total control. A male who knew
what he was doing, even though he had admitted numerous times in
the last few hours how inexperienced he was.

Then again, he was a strong, virile male.
And he was her mate. Put all those qualities in a cauldron and
stir, and abracadabra, you have one sexy-assed male on a fast-track
learning curve.

“So, I wasn’t dreaming.” She swept her hand
up his corded torso. “You really are here. This really is
happening.”

“Yep.”

The sheets were draped haphazardly over
their legs. She was surprised they were even still on the bed,
given all she and Trace had done to one another since sequestering
themselves in her bed hours ago.

“Did you sleep?” She stretched out alongside
him. Her body ached in such a delicious way, especially between her
legs.

“A little.”

“Mmm.” She snuggled against him. “What time
is it?”

He lifted his head and looked over her at
the clock on the nightstand. “Almost five thirty.” He settled back
down beside her.

Almost sunrise.

Mya and Brenna would be in the kitchen soon,
preparing breakfast for the kids.

She really should get up. Take a shower. Get
dressed. Clean up the disaster in the hallway.

Instead, she pulled the blankets over them
and tucked herself more securely against him, his warmth, his
strength. He was like meth. The more she got of him, the more she
wanted.

Maybe in a few days, the fascination would
wear off, but right now, she wanted to wrap him around her like a
straitjacket and never take him off.

His chest rose and fell evenly as his
fingers absently caressed up and down her arm, as if he, too, were
blessedly content.

“Tell me about Brak and your family,” she
said softly. “What happened?”

The arm around her tensed, and his fingers
stuttered over her elbow. Then he relaxed again. “Why don’t you
just go inside my head and see for yourself?” There was no
animosity in his voice. No resentment. It was a simple statement of
fact, as if he’d accepted her abilities to dip into his thoughts
and no longer wished to keep them from her.

She rolled to her stomach and pushed herself
up on her elbows. “I’d rather you tell me. That way, I can hear
your voice.” She smiled and briefly dipped her forehead against his
shoulder. “I like your voice.”

But her request was about more than hearing
his voice. She also wanted him to talk about what had happened,
because talking was active. Allowing her to see inside his thoughts
was passive. And what he needed was to actively engage with his
past rather than continue to dismiss it. That was the only way he
would ever truly come to terms with what had happened.

“You like my voice, huh?” He reached across
his body and brushed his fingers down her hair.

“Yes.”

His eyes met hers and locked on, shining
pure adoration upon her. But he said nothing further.

After several seconds, she shimmied closer.
“Tell me, Trace. Tell me about them. Please.”

He blinked, his gaze falling to her mouth
momentarily before he turned away and stared off into space. But
his arm wound more securely around her as if she were a buoy he
refused to let go of for fear of being swept into the current.
While his thoughts drifted back in time, the rest of him remained
grounded by her side.

With a sigh, he said, “I was twelve when my
mother died.” His mouth curved into a wistful smile. “She was so
beautiful.” He turned his head on the pillow so he faced her. “She
had mocha-colored skin and green eyes.”

“Like yours.”

“Yes, like mine. My father has pale-green
eyes, too, but mine are more like my mother’s.” He looked away
again, his gaze taking on a faraway appearance as he connected once
more with the past. “She was a voodoo priestess, but my father
called her an exotic island woman. She was human and refused my
father’s offer to change her into his davala. She said that her
path was only meant to cross his, not run parallel with it for
eternity. Of course, my father never stopped trying to change her,
but she never relented. And he respected her decision, no matter
how much he didn’t like it.”

“She sounds like a strong woman.”

He smiled wistfully. “She was.” After a
brief pause, he continued. “She became pregnant with Brak and me
during my father’s first calling. And while we were in her womb,
she conjured magic to protect us.” He scoffed, shaking his head.
“She gave Brak what she called the light, and she gave me the
darkness. She never explained why. All she said was that Brak and I
were two halves meant to balance each other, but it was clear Brak
was the favored son. Both my parents treated him with so much love
and affection. Me, on the other hand . . .?” Trace
blinked several times and turned sharply away even as his arm
tightened around her and pulled her closer. “Me they merely
tolerated. I never received the attention Brak did. He was the good
son. I was the anomaly.”

Cordray frowned. “But they loved you.
Surely, they did.”

He expelled a burdensome breath. “In
hindsight, I
felt
loved. But at the time, I was too young to
recognize it. All I felt was distress. Like I was a scourge to the
family. A disgrace. A freak.” He nodded and met her gaze again. His
eyes glistened. “Most of the time, I felt like a freak. An outcast.
Brak fit in with everyone, and all I daydreamed about most days was
being able to fit in like he did. That the other kids would want to
play with me the way they did him. But that never happened. I was
teased and made fun of all the time. Not a day went by that I
wasn’t reminded of how different I was from everyone else.

“I came to resent my mother for what she’d
done to me. And I resented Brak, too. I resented his power. That
he’d received the light instead of the darkness.”

He stopped as if gathering his thoughts.
Cordray remained quiet, waiting for him to get to the rest of his
story in his own time.

Trace dragged in a heavy inhale.

“My power started manifesting when I was
nine or ten. Small stuff at first. Pebbles, paper, things like
that. It scared me, but it also fascinated me, and for the first
time, I saw a way I could retaliate against those who made fun of
me. I was able to move things with my mind, especially when I got
upset. I would get angry, and then pebbles would skitter across the
ground, or the pages in a book would begin turning as if by a
strong breeze. Before long, the pebbles became tiny projectiles,
and the books slammed shut and flew across the room.

“My mother told me not to show my power in
public. That doing so would be dangerous, and that I needed to be
disciplined and work at keeping it under control. That if I didn’t
work hard to keep my power under control, it would control me
instead.” He let out a bitter huff. “But her warnings didn’t stop
me. I was rebellious. I was angry that they didn’t seem to love me
as much as they loved Brak, and I was angry at the kids who teased
me. So I let my power out around the other kids. Just little
things . . . like the pebbles and the books. Enough
to scare them without making them realize I was responsible.
Watching them freak out over ‘ghosts’ was so fun, though, so I
didn’t see why I should try to rein in this magic Mother had given
me.

“Then one day I was playing by myself by a
pond when this group of kids came along. One of them, a boy named
Mason, was my worst tormentor. He was a bully who took tremendous
pleasure in making fun of me in front of the other kids. He began
calling me names, taunting me.”

Cordray had seen this in his mind the other
night. She knew what came next. Still, she remained silent, letting
Trace get everything off his chest.

“I remember this odd sensation coming over
me.” He frowned and used his free hand to make a fist. “Like I was
being squeezed through a pipe. Like my muscles were being stretched
to their limits. I’d never felt that before, and it terrified me. I
began to panic. I struggled to breathe. I just wanted to get away
from them. To get back to my mother so she could take away whatever
was making me ill. I didn’t understand at the time that it was my
power unleashing at full capacity. That the very thing she’d warned
me about was happening.”