CONCEPTION (The Others) (44 page)

The formality left Marlika’s expression to be replaced by
shock. “You want me to watch her?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re family, and I wouldn’t
trust her to anyone else.”

A smile replaced the shock as Marlika reached for Jalina,
taking her in her arms as if she were the most precious of gifts. Her smile
softened further with the love she felt for the child. She glanced up, her
beautiful dark eyes misted with tears. Her “Thank you” was equally damp. “I
will take very good care of her.”

“I know you will.” Jalina was the child Marlika never
expected to have. She’d almost given her life for her tonight, and would do so
again in a heartbeat. When it came to babysitters, there was no one Eden
trusted more.

Eden turned in Deuce’s arms as Marlika took the child and
headed into the house. “We need to find her mate.”

“Harley has been working on it.”

She touched her finger to the slight dent in Deuce’s chin.
“You need to put the Chosen on it full time. I’m not having my daughter’s
godmother dying on her.”

Deuce’s hands slid down to her hips. Against her stomach she
felt his cock stretch in greeting. “Godmother?”

“It’s a human concept.” She rested her cheek against his
chest. Surrounded by his arms, his heart beating under her cheek, it was easy
to believe all things were possible. She tilted her head back. “Basically, I
have chosen her to be Jalina’s mother if anything happens to me.”

Deuce frowned. “That is not wise. Marlika’s time
approaches.”

Despite the calmness of the words, Eden could feel the
pressure and anxiety in him. “Well, I’m human and I believe in miracles, and I
want one for Marlika, so I’m doing it.”

“We are all hoping.”

She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Now, there’s
the difference between you and me. I’m not hoping, I’m believing.”

His hand caught hers as she would have unfastened the second
button. His knuckles under her chin tipped her face up. “I would give you
anything to make you happy, mate, but I cannot promise to give you this.”

“I don’t need you to.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You don’t?”

She shook her head, meeting his black gaze dead-on. “I’ve
gone over your head.”

He frowned.

“I’ve asked your Maker, my God, to do this for her.”

“And you believe this is all it takes?”

“It’s my experience that miracles are ten percent faith and
ninety percent perseverance.” She unbuttoned the second button of his shirt. “I
can be very stubborn.”

He didn’t argue with her and he didn’t stop her work on his
shirt, but let her undo the buttons one by one until his shirt hung open. She
reached for his pants. He caught her hands in his. “You play with fire.”

She smiled and rubbed her cheek against the hair-roughened
skin of his chest, loving his scent and strength and the way he was instantly
hers at a touch. “I didn’t realize I was playing.”

“You wish me to take you here in the yard in front of the
Others?”

“Pervert.” She slapped his chest, trying to suppress the
thrill of excitement, the thought of being claimed so openly created. “You
could at least try to sound appalled at the idea.”

“Why?” When she would have stepped away she ran into the
barrier of his hand. “I would have no trouble seeding you here in front of them
all if that is your desire.”

The serious expression left her in no doubt that he meant
what he said. “Well, I would have a major problem with it, so just get the idea
right out of your head.”

His hand slipped to her now flat abdomen. “Too late.”

There was a tugging at the waistband of her jeans and then a
slow loosening until gravity peeled the heavy material off her like the skin of
a banana, cut from her body by his razor-sharp nails. The simple act of him
putting his hand over her mound cut off her shriek mid-birth. “The idea excites
you. You are wet.”

“I’m always wet around you.” Embarrassment made mincemeat of
her voice, leaving more air than disgust in her tone as she retorted, “That
proves nothing.” She pushed against his chest. He didn’t move. Her only
consolation was that the tunic she wore fell to her thighs, preserving her
modesty.

His finger slipped through the center of the joining ring,
gliding along the sensitive flesh, curving slightly as he pulled back, giving
her the pleasure of his nail gently scraping the receptive flesh until he
reached the edge of her clitoris. Then he stopped, holding her there on the
edge of anticipation.

“Deuce?” He made it so hard to think.

He bent his head, his hair shielding her from others as he
whispered in her ear, “You owe me tribute, woman.”

But not here, not like this. The only thing that came out of
her mouth was a breathless “Please”.

He reached down. Two more slashes of his nails and her jeans
fell away entirely. One arm slid around her back and the other curved under her
knees as he answered her thoughts, not her words. “No. Not like this.”

He straightened, holding her in his arms as if she were
nothing. She loved it. His laugh brushed her temple. “I am glad my strength
pleases you.”

Her “Stay out of my mind” was pure reflex, because she was
getting more comfortable with him there.

“But it is such an interesting place to be right now.”

She just bet. “Well, I’m not comfortable with you wallowing
in my fantasies.”

He paused in front of the door. “Who else would you
have…wallow in them?”

She sighed and pulled his hair over her face. “No one. I’d just
rather bring them out more gradually.” She had been going to say normally, but
it was normal to Deuce to read her mind so she’d settled for the alternative.
She was glad she had when he pulled the hair away and he smiled that gentle
smile of his, the one that transformed him from leader to lover in one sexy
flex of muscle.

“You are adjusting.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

He opened the door and stepped in. “I am not smug, I am
happy.”

She looped her hands behind his neck. “I have to tell you,
it’s hard to tell the difference.”

Once
inside the house, he made a beeline for their temporary bedroom. She pressed
her face into his neck to avoid the eyes of the Chosen and Others they passed.

“Your shyness pleases me,” he said as he stepped through the
bedroom door.

“I thought my boldness pleased you,” she murmured as he let
her lower body slide against his on the way to the floor.

“In private, your boldness pleases me immensely.” The door
clicked shut. “But in public, I prefer your shyness.”

She shook her head. “The old
lady-in-public-whore-in-the-bedroom cliché?”

“Do you mind so much?”

She leaned her cheek into his hand, savoring the pure
emotion of his touch. “As long as you’re my private gigolo, I think I can live
with it.”

“I am glad.” His eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips
twitched, letting her know he was more than glad. He was amused. She touched
the corner of his mouth. She did so like making him smile.

“You still owe me tribute, woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are so hung up on that.”

His smile broadened. “It is tradition.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s the reason.” She stepped back into
the support of his hands and motioned to his shirt. “You’re a bit overdressed.
“

He didn’t move to take off his shirt, just shrugged in an
apparent attempt to look helpless and pointed out, “Undressing her Chosen for
tribute is a mate’s job.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Another tradition?”

With a perfectly straight face he answered, “Yes.”

“We are definitely going to have to discuss your
traditions.”

“I am happy with them.”

She placed her hands on his chest, reveling in the way all
that hard muscle leapt and shivered at her touch. “I’m sure you are, but brace
yourself, the times they are a-changin’.”

His teeth flashed white. “So you say.”

She nodded in agreement, spreading his shirt to the side so
she had an unrestricted view of his chest. “So I say.”

He had a marvelous chest, his pectorals well defined,
expanding above the well-defined ladder of his abs. The lamplight deepened the
gold of his skin, polishing it to a burnished temptation. She leaned in,
letting her breath caress the sensitive flesh at the top of his right pec,
touching him lightly with her tongue, remembering how he felt, how he tasted.
His ribs expanded on a harshly indrawn breath to be released on a careful “You
hunger”.

His finger, with one razor-sharp nail extended, slid between
his chest and her mouth. With every pulse of his blood, she could feel his
desire. He wanted her mouth on him. She caught his hand in hers before he could
open a vein, and kissed the knuckles. “Not just yet.”

His other hand cupped the back of her head, offering
support. “I do not mind.”

She just bet he didn’t. “Thanks.”

She shifted position, angling along the other side, her lips
offering the haphazard caresses here or there while her hands slid under his
shirt to close over the hard curve of his shoulders. They were too broad and
too developed for her to hold them entirely, but she gave it a shot, working
her hands between the material and his flesh, scraping the tops with her nails,
soothing the sting with slow circles of her fingertips while her mouth slid
lower, closer to the small male nipple beading in anticipation. She made him
wait, approaching at a snail’s pace, ignoring the urging of his hands, tickling
the turgid nub with her breath, her lips before gently taking it into her
mouth.

Deuce’s groan shimmered in her mind and in the air above her
head. His breath hissed between his teeth as she lightly, ever so lightly
touched it with the tip of her tongue.

“Harder,” he ordered, his hands coming up to cradle her
head.

“Not yet.”

He might have forced the issue, but she distracted him by
sliding her hands down his abdomen, raking the firm flesh with her nails,
forcing another groan from between his clenched teeth that stopped abruptly
when she reached the waistband of his jeans. She inched her fingers under the
material, pulling it away from his flesh, denying him the sensation he craved.
She fumbled with the button, sinking her teeth into the hard nub of his nipple
as she did. He bucked against her, making it impossible to undo the fastening.
She fumbled a second more before stepping back and away.

She liked the way he watched her as her hands slid down the
front of her tunic, his black eyes swirling with red, his breath coming in
shallow pants, his expression drawn tight with passion. She crossed her hands
in front of her, grabbed the hem and brought it up slowly, stopping just short
of exposing her pussy. Her hot, throbbing, slightly different than before
pussy. She inched the shirt up, holding her breath, waiting on his reaction.

Hot and primitive, Deuce’s growl filled the room. Eden
widened her stance, giving Deuce a good view of her freshly shaved pussy before
turning around and, with a wiggle of her hips, presenting him with the full
view of her ass.

She wasn’t expecting the smack he landed on her backside or
the thrill of excitement that shot through her at the heated sting. She paused,
legs spread, ass quivering, shirt over her head as she waited for what he’d do
next. Or maybe to see if he’d do it again.

“You are supposed to be paying tribute, not teasing.”

She took that to mean he wasn’t going to do that again. She
threw the shirt off and turned back. He caught her chin in his hand. His thumb stroked
her lips. “And yes, I will do that again.”

The promise burned through her veins as he kept her in
position with his hand on her chin. His gaze traveled down her torso, stroking
her breasts like a touch, lingering on her pussy with an intensity that had
juices spilling from her body. His nostrils flared and his pupils drew to
pinpoints of fire before expanding to a black reflection of infinite desire. “A
Chosen blessed with such an impudent mate will have to deliver punishment
often.”

She shuddered as he removed his hand. He smiled,
unashamedly, exposing the fangs that grew with his desire for her. Only for
her, making it hard to remember her goal.

She stepped back into his embrace, letting her nipples graze
his stomach. She pushed his shirt back off his shoulders, nestling against the
hard bulge of his cock, rubbing up and down as she stretched to work the
material off. It slid a quarter of the way down before getting caught on his
biceps. She frowned and slid her hands back over his shoulders and down his
chest, casting a couple considering glances at the stuck shirt while she kissed
first his right nipple and then his left, lingering there longer because she’d
neglected it earlier. A simple twist of her torso and she once again attacked
the stubborn button on his jeans. No matter how she struggled it wouldn’t let
go, pressure from beneath impeding her efforts. She sighed, glanced down and
noticed his boots. Those would have to come off first.

Relying on Deuce to provide support, she bent her knees, sliding
her body along his, whimpering when the waistband of his jeans caught on her
nipples, pausing to control the rush of pleasure before she dropped the rest of
the way. A tap on the back to his calf and he lifted his foot. She tugged on
the heel—nothing happened. She tugged harder. The heel slipped out of her hand.

She cut him a glare. He merely lifted a brow. Oh, he so
needed a lesson. “Lean back against the wall.”

The other brow echoed the first. It was amazing that he
could stand there with his arms trapped within his shirt and still look
completely male and completely in control. Of himself and the situation. It was
also annoying.

“You think to give your mate orders?”

“If my mate wants his boots off, yes.”

Deuce didn’t lean against the wall, he leaned against the
door. As she’d seen in the movies, she turned and straddled his calf, lifting
her ass high, spreading her legs wide, giving him an intimate view of
everything he craved. His growl was music to her ears. The boot did not want to
come off, giving her ample opportunity to wiggle and squirm before finally
slipping it free. She removed his sock and moved on to the next boot. She
tucked her smile away as he snarled when it came off and she fell forward,
catching herself on her hands.