Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) (5 page)

With her buttocks facing two of her captors, she unsnapped the front and side garter, then slipped her hands beneath the beige hose, coaxing it to her ankle and off, dropping it near the bedpost.

When her remaining stocking was also on the floor, she stepped away from the bed, working the pearl buttons on her blouse. Her fingers continued to tremble, prolonging the effort. After what seemed a great while, she slid the garment off her shoulders, revealing her bra. Its snug fit forced her breasts upward until they nearly spilled from the lacy white cups.

As it was, her nipples grazed the edge of the fabric, making Liz feel more naked than if she’d undressed completely.

Her vulnerability wasn’t lost on Carreon and his men. They’d grown silent in the last few moments, not clearing their throats or shifting in their chairs.

Liz had no desire to see their expressions.

Dropping her blouse on the floor, she kept her attention on Zeke. Against the frosty white pillowcase, his shoulder-length hair was the color of pitch, thick and shiny.

She imagined a woman’s fingers, no—her fingers—combing those midnight strands, taming them but not him. He’d work his hands through her hair, using it to anchor her so he could claim her mouth, refusing to finish their kiss until they were both restless for more. Him owning her body, exploring all of her curves, every orifice, each intimate part, making her cry out in delight.

Zeke Neekoma would deliver pleasure. Liz had no doubt of that.

Animal wanting raged in her blood, warming her flesh even as reality intruded. Freed from their lace prison, her naked nipples puckered at the coolish air and the thought of Carreon and his men watching.

Liz found it difficult to breathe. Her limbs were weighted, sluggish. The bra slipped from her fingers. Seconds after it hit the floor, Liz heard one of the men leave his chair to grab it.

She sensed it was the one who’d once mounted her.

Continuing, she removed her garter belt, then slipped her thumbs beneath her thong’s elastic, sliding it over her hips to her thighs. The satin crotch, damp from her arousal, resisted briefly. The moment she freed it, Liz smelled her own musk.

Her body alternately weakened with yearning and stiffened, attempting to resist. She had no idea what kind of man Zeke was. Nor did it matter. By daybreak, Carreon would have the information he needed, his inhumane tactics assuring it, and Zeke would be dead at last. This time tortured beyond repair.

Surprising tears welled in her eyes. Liz dismissed them, resolved to do whatever she must to save her father. Dropping her thong on the floor, she padded to the side of the bed.

From her peripheral vision, she saw the tallest of Carreon’s men snatching her panties, delivering them to his boss. With the delicate garment pressed to his face, Carreon inhaled deeply.

The sound he made heightened Liz’s sense of exposure.

Coolish air glanced off her nipples, constricting them, then drifted lower to her cunt, wet with stubborn desire.

She climbed onto the mattress and straddled Zeke, unfolding her body over his, her breasts crushed against his chest, her pussy on his cock, her healing force and heat seeping into him, leaving her weak.

Heal,
her thoughts pleaded, hating herself for wanting it, but there was no other choice. It was either his life sacrificed or her father’s.

She bit back an anguished moan, recalling the last time she’d seen him. His eyes had been wide with terror as Carreon’s lieutenants hauled him back to his room, not allowing him to embrace her. She’d cried out for him. She’d cursed Carreon.

In the end, she’d obeyed. Healing thugs who should have continued their journeys to hell, who were a scourge to her people and Zeke’s.

On her elbows, Liz inclined her head to Zeke. A lock of her hair brushed his cheek; her breath skipped over his beautiful mouth; his lips upturned in a seemingly tender smile.

All her life, Liz had craved that look from a man. Whoever he had loved, she understood how lucky that woman had been.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, both for his loss and what she was about to do.

“What are you saying?” Carreon snapped. “What have you told him?”

“To heal,” she lied and said no more. Angling her head, Liz pressed her mouth to Zeke’s.

A whimper caught at the base of her throat. His lips were delightfully warm and soft, a sharp contradiction to the bite of his coming beard.

Heal,
her mind begged,
if only for a little while. Then you can return to the one you love.

On her silent promise, Liz separated his lips with her tongue, tasting the cleanliness of his mouth, a hint of minty toothpaste.

She poured her breath into him.

As before, nothing happened. His heart didn’t beat more strongly beneath hers. His muscles didn’t tense. He didn’t stir.

Her mind froze, then raced. Had she gone too quickly as she’d warned Carreon? Was Zeke too damaged for her to heal? Was the blood and physiology of the Others incapable of full restoration?

Or had she been correct that Zeke simply refused to come back?

“What’s happening?” Carreon demanded.

Inhaling as deeply as she could, Liz again released her breath into Zeke’s mouth and waited.

Outside, the wind howled, stirring up dust, driving it against the windows, where it tapped like thousands of fingernails trying to claw their way inside. In the wall, something rattled.

“What?” Carreon insisted.

Anxiety tightened Liz’s belly. Her pulse refused to slow. She knew it was over. Because she’d failed to heal Zeke, Carreon would murder her father to prove his authority, to show her that she would never again defy—

Her thoughts paused at Zeke’s chest moving, his mouth opening.

He gasped like someone who’d almost drowned, laboring to pull in enough air, telling her the truth.

She’d succeeded. He was healing and on his way back.

No.

He tried to stop breathing, but his body fought him, his lungs struggling for air.

Gabrielle’s voice, calm yet saddened, whispered inside his mind,
I have to go now.

You’re being called back.

No! Zeke’s jaw clenched. He wouldn’t allow Gabrielle to leave him, no matter his other obligations. Not again. Never again.

His hand, so much larger than hers, tightened around her fingers. With strength that surprised him, she broke his grip and drifted back, mouthing her words,
You have to go back.

Zeke’s lips parted on an inconsolable cry that ended in a gasp. Pain ripped through his chest as his heart started beating normally again, driving blood through his arteries and veins, searing them with its agonizing heat.

Breathless with hurt, he battled the sensations, forcing himself toward Gabrielle.

Swaths of white mist cloaked her and curled around him, restricting his movements. A soft, heavy weight pressed down his full length. The mist? How was that possible?

In the distance, he heard low rumbles resembling thunder, except the sounds lifted and fell…the same as voices. Men’s voices?

Zeke listened, unable to make sense of the sounds or to detect any words.

Go,
Gabrielle’s voice repeated.
I’ll wait for you… I’ll be here when you come back.

He was never going to see her again. Zeke knew it. Felt it. Intolerable pain ripped through him. He reached out to touch her hand again, to run his fingertips over her downy cheek. Instead, his fingers slid over what seemed to be cool linen.

Where the fuck am I?

On his next cautious breath, Zeke caught the unmistakable scent of violets mingled with musk—sweet and light, sultry and feminine.

The mist retreated, as did all hope of Gabrielle, replaced by darkness, the smooth feel of expensive cotton beneath him and the heated weight of a female draped over his length.

Her lips brushed his in striking tenderness, her pleasantly scented breath filling his mouth.

Zeke stiffened, expecting another blaze of pain from the blood flow. Instead, each ache receded beneath soothing warmth, the kind delivered by a slug of booze or a potent narcotic.

She blew into his mouth again, her fingers stroking his biceps. Tingles dashed up Zeke’s arms. On instinct, he reacted, wrapping them around her, one hand on her smooth back, the other gripping her ass, meaty and plush, pulling her into his embrace.

Her breath caught. She tensed in what appeared to be surprise or dread, and yet her lips remained submissive against his, trembling as she parted them, yielding even more.

Bursts of heat, wondrous not painful, worked their way from Zeke’s chest to his groin, his thickening cock. It nuzzled against her cunt, dewy with arousal.

Again, she stiffened but didn’t leave him.

Her name drifted close, one Zeke knew from his visions, but couldn’t retrieve. Thinking proved too difficult, the journey from near death to health leaving him with little at the moment except raw instinct.

Tilting his head, he fitted his mouth to hers and thrust his tongue inside. She whimpered at the intimate invasion. Losing whatever restraint he’d owned, Zeke burrowed his fingers into her thick, fragrant mane to keep her from retreat as he deepened the kiss, not caring how savage it became, wanting it to be.

She’d brought him back against his will, which took him from Gabrielle. Now, she’d pay for that transgression and would see to his pleasure.

Her back arched at his hand sliding down the silky furrow between her cheeks, his fingers reaching her anus. She wiggled when he stroked the tight circle, and then she moaned as he dipped his hand lower, touching her cleft, her vaginal lips glutted with desire, damp with need.

Pleased, he kissed her with a right he’d taken, one she had no say in. The same as he’d had no choice in her bringing him back. With one hand, he held her head to his. With the other, he teased her clit. Delicately. Ruthlessly.

A new gasp escaped her, opening her mouth even more to his tongue. Zeke used it to his advantage, thrusting deeper, taking all he could, all she owed him, tasting a hint of the coffee she’d drunk.

And the saltiness of her tears.

His strokes paused. Gabrielle’s face flickered in his mind, her features frozen in panic as she died at the hands of Carreon’s men. A tragedy Zeke’s visions hadn’t predicted, as though the gods were playing with him, proving he was still a foolish, helpless mortal. Unbearable heartache tightened his throat and stoked his rage at his creator and enemies. No female should ever experience fear at the hands of a male. No man should allow such a thing.

Tempering his kiss, Zeke forced himself to be gentle and tender with this woman. He drew his thumb over her cheekbone and stroked her clit lazily.

Her body, so tense a moment ago, weakened against his. A wanting growl tore from the back of her throat. She suckled his tongue, wanting it deeper now, not content to have them apart. Cradling the side of his face, she tunneled her fingers through his hair, using it to hold him to her.

They kissed with the wonder of new lovers, yearning in each sigh and every moan. It proved too little. With his caring touch, her passion grew. Pushing his tongue aside, she filled his mouth with hers, grunting in what appeared to be pride at what she’d accomplished.

Not about to let her outdo him, Zeke rolled them over, their mouths still joined despite her faint squeal. Allowing her no chance to recover, taking what he knew she was offering, he used his knees to push her thighs apart. Holding his stiffened cock, he bathed the crown in her silky juices and plunged inside.

My god.

His body stilled, then shuddered at her channel’s exquisite snugness and heat, the way she worked her muscles to coax him fully inside, giving him a home and returning his strength.

Indescribable sensations rocketed through Zeke. On a cellular level, he knew she was healing him. On an intellectual level, he understood she was the enemy. In this bed, confined by his weight, stretched by his hardness and size, she was a woman, lush and ripe, smelling of violets, musk and the scent of sex.

With each of his powerful thrusts, measured and prolonged, the mattress shook beneath their weight, the springs squealing, the wood groaning.

From somewhere behind, a man murmured something, too quiet for Zeke to hear. Another answered, his comments equally low.

Their presence barely registered and certainly didn’t stop Zeke. Nothing could, except this woman’s fear, revulsion—or worse, her tears. Only they would keep him from her.

She tightened her legs around his hips, lifting herself so he could sink even deeper. His balls slapped her ass. He worked her clit with his thumb.

Her powerful inner muscles tightened around his shaft, increasing the friction between them, making the wait for orgasm almost cruel.

Tearing her mouth from his, she came first, choking down a cry. Zeke wasn’t about to restrain himself. On an uncivilized growl, one born from a heritage of warriors, he tumbled over the edge, his come flowing into her.

Their tattered breaths mingled. She smelled of him, he of her. Damp with sweat and still breathing hard, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. They adjusted instantly to the room’s rosy glow, allowing Zeke his first look at her.