Dancing on the Wind (17 page)

what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander idiom.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

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Dancing on the Wind

“If it’s acceptable for one of us to do, it should be acceptable for the other,” she

replied. “You’re not the only operative in this partnership. It might fall on me one day

to use my body just as you might use yours.” She gave him a thin smile. “Or should I

say someone might fall on me just as you might fall on someone else.”

He stopped moving to the music, his body tensing, and his handsome face

suddenly hard as stone. “Try it and see what happens to that someone, McCullough.”

Before she could respond, he spun around and started from the lounge, his hand

brutally tight on hers as he pulled her behind him as he dug his other hand into his

pocket. Detouring to the bar, he slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the top and told the

bartender to keep the change.

“You’re hurting me,” Keenan complained, stumbling along in his wake.

He ignored her as his long stride ate up the distance to the door. Once out in the

corridor, he came to an abrupt stop, pivoted around and pushed her against the wall,

bracing her there with his hard body.

“You are
mine
!” he said from between clenched teeth. “Fuck some other man,

Keenan, and I’ll gut him right before your eyes and make you watch while I shove his

intestines down his thieving throat!”

Savagely he covered her mouth with his—the kiss so powerful, so potent it made

her heart hammer against her ribs. He was grinding against her with one leg thrust

roughly between hers. Her breasts were flattened against his muscular chest, her back

aching from the force of his body weight.

But none of that mattered for he had ignited a fierce passion within her and her

hands crawled up his body to bury themselves in his hair, holding his head so she could

match his kiss with a hard one of her own. She rubbed her core along his thigh, heat

raging in her lower body. Her tongue dueled with his, swept over his teeth.

“Bed,” he mumbled as he tore his mouth from hers.

“Yeah,” she agreed, panting as once more he reached for her hand and tugged her

along in his wake, half running to keep up with his pace. She barely noticed the people

they passed or the second looks that were wide with surprise and speculation.

Fallon disdained waiting for the monorail and pushed through the door to the

outside, hurrying along the walkway toward the dorm. He said nothing. She was

equally silent, muttering a garbled greeting to the doorman as Fallon jerked open the

dorm’s main door and thrust her through. She didn’t question his decision to take the

stairs and followed behind him with her hand still clutched tightly in his.

It was to his room he led her.

If the starkness of his quarters shocked her as the motion detectors controlling the

overhead lights came on, she didn’t let it show. He all but dragged her through the

nearly empty living area and into a bedroom the same size as her own but furnished

with only a full-size bed beside which stood a single nightstand devoid of everything

save a shadeless lamp and a small chest of drawers. To say the room was utilitarian

would have put it mildly. It was austere to the point of being monastic. Not even a rug

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

covered the floor or a drape the windows. She frowned at the harshness of the glaring

light as he swung her up and onto the mattress—as hard as any upon which she’d ever

had the misfortune to recline. Without either headboard or footboard, the bed springs

squeaked as he bumped his legs against it in his hurry to rid himself of his clothing.

“Fallon,” she said, glancing at the bare window. Although they were several floors

up, she didn’t feel comfortable with the light on.

“Huh,” he grunted, and reached over to turn off the lamp—the only source of light

in the room.

Plunged into near total darkness since the lights had gone out in the living area

now that no one was moving, she could just barely make out his silhouette as he

stripped off his shirt, kicked off his loafers and began working on his pants. She

watched him bend over as he removed his underwear and then he was atop her,

covering her like a quilt, his mouth seeking hers as his hands pulled at her clothing,

ripping open her blouse despite her gasp of protest, pushing up her bra to expose her

breast, tugging her skirt up to thrust his fingers under the silk of her panties and into

her heated center.

She arched upward—her hips offering her sex to his quest. He delved deep,

stretching her with three fingers that twisted gently but firmly inside her slick core. His

cock was rock-hard against her thigh as his mouth trailed kisses down her chin and

neck until his lips took possession of her nipple. His hard suckle made her squirm and

she twisted her fingers in his thick hair, closing her eyes to the delicious feel of his

mouth and the deep penetration. The moment his thumb touched her clit, she hissed

like a cat and bucked on the mattress.

“Do it!” she snarled.

He didn’t need another invitation. He pulled his fingers from her, pushed up so he

could grab the waistband with both hands and tore the panties from her, flinging the

flimsy garment aside. With a growl, he covered her again, guiding his cock into her.

Keenan brought one leg up and hooked it around his hip, straining her body from

the mattress to meet the frenzied thrusts that had set the bed beneath them to shaking.

Her hands went to his neck and she pulled his mouth down to hers, their tongues

mating as he slammed into her wet sheath with force. She brought her other leg up and

snared him between them, riding him as he was her.

Beyond the windows lightning flared in the night sky and a heavy, low rumble

echoed across the Iowa countryside. As they lost themselves in tearing lust, rain began

to pound heavily against the glass and the heavens strobed with spidery webs of

electrical discharge that flickered from one side of the horizon to the other.

Fallon’s powerful plunges into her soft body were greeted with ragged breaths and

fingernails digging into his shoulder. His mouth slid away so he was pressing his cheek

to hers. With his eyes tightly squeezed in order to concentrate on the delicious

tightening of his balls, the raging thrust of his cock as fire built deep in his groin, he

managed to jab his hands beneath her ass and jerk her up. His cock went deeper still

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Dancing on the Wind

and she released a loud shout of encouragement, her legs squeezing him like a silken

vise. He was grunting with each blind stroke. His hammering heart felt as though it

were about to burst. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his upper lip, and ran in slow

trickles down his chest. The scent of his body’s fluids mingling with hers filled his

nostrils to spur him on to a greater effort. With the sound of his flesh slapping against

hers, he felt the climax rushing through his cock at the same moment the walls of her

vagina began to ripple around him.

“God!” he bellowed. His cum was so violent, so intense, he thought he might well

have blacked out as it rushed from his swollen shaft and spurted thickly inside her

willing channel. A hard shudder slithered down him. He felt her quiver. Her nails

raked down his back and clamped into the flesh of his buttocks as he pistoned into her

like a runaway machine. Beneath them, the bed was bouncing on the bare Terrazzo

floor. With his head thrown back, he bayed—there was no other way to describe it—

and she screamed as the last wave of satisfaction moved through their bodies.

Heaving for breath, shivering like a man with the ague, he fell from her to his back

and lay there slick with sweat, semen and vaginal juices coating his shrinking cock.

“Dear lord, Fallon,” he heard her gasp. “Are you trying to kill us both?”

Her voice was hoarse from her piercing scream and her gulps for air would have

been comical had he not been too drained to even smile. It took what waning strength

he had just to turn his head on the pillow to gaze at her. His eyelids heavy, he stared at

her.

“You are so goddamn beautiful,” he told her softly.

Keenan managed to turn over on her side to face him. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Know so,” he said. His eyes closed and just that quickly he was asleep.

“Wore your ass out, didn’t I, Fallon?” she whispered, content just to gaze at his

handsome face—peaceful and youthful as he slept.

Mentally, she ran her fingers over those chiseled features from the tiny crow’s feet

beside his eyes to the light indention of symmetrical lines bracketing his full lips. Those

lips were beautiful, she thought. A dark rose color, they were swollen from their kisses.

Her attention moved to the straight, fine nose and the dark growth of the five

o’clock shadow shading his upper lip and jaw. His black hair was tousled so

attractively—falling low over his slightly creased forehead.

“So handsome,” she thought, and let her eyes wander down his muscular chest

where the crisp mat of hair spread across his chiseled pecs and marched in a tiger line

down to a thicker pelt between his legs. No sissified manscaping for this boy, she was

thankful to see.

It was the shaft—now at rest and lying crooked over his upper thigh—that held her

scrutiny the longest. He was very well endowed, thick and broad and long.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Keenan sighed. Her gaze flicked over his taut thighs then crawled back up his body

to settle on his face. He was lightly snoring and for some reason that made her feel at

peace, comfortable.

Easing from the mattress, she stood and removed her blouse, bra and skirt then slid

back into bed with him and snuggled as close as she could. Since he was lying on his

back with his head turned toward her, she pressed her forehead to his, inhaled the

sweetness of his warm breath, closed her eyes and joined him in sleep.

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Dancing on the Wind

“Wake up, hound!”

Fallon sat straight up in the bed, his heart hammering for the loud voice had

sounded right in his ear and he would have recognized it anywhere. When he realized

he was in his own austere bedroom and not the Canadian wilds, he blinked.

“Coim?”

“I do not like those who prey upon the innocents.”

Running a hand through his hair, the events of the night before came back to him

and Fallon turned to look down at the empty space beside him. He frowned. When had

the little witch left his side and how deeply had he been sleeping that he had not heard

her go? Cocking an ear toward the bathroom, he did not hear water—of any kind—

running and that deepened his frown. It was barely six o’clock. She should still be lying

beside him.

“You are a lazy hound, but then all hounds are lazy. Get up, stop thinking of your mate and

attend to my words!”

“All right already,” Fallon grumbled, swinging his bare legs from the mattress.

“Can I at least take a piss first?”

“Such a puny thing with which to take a piss but, aye, go ahead,
” came the begrudging

reply.

Fallon looked down at his morning woody and winced, wondering since the

creature could invade his mind if he could also remote view him.

“How else would I know the size of your dribble?”

Ignoring the snide query, Fallon padded into the bathroom to relieve himself. The

seat was down and that made him even angrier at himself. Keenan had come into the

room, taken care of her own business before slipping out—unheard and unsensed. He

mentally castigated himself for letting down his guard so carelessly.

“She did not wish to wake you. Our conversation was brief but pleasant.”

The frown morphed into a look of surprise on the Reaper’s face. “You spoke with

Keenan this morning?”

“I told you, hound!”
came the exasperated snarl
. “I do not like those who prey upon those

who can not defend themselves!”
There was a snort then,
“And wash your hands!”

Doing as he was ordered, Fallon looked up in to the mirror over the sink and he

could see
An Fear Liath Mor
like a rippling ghost in the glass.

“What are you talking about, Coim?” he asked.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

There was a long, loud sigh in Fallon’s ears.
“Pay attention, hound. I have little to do to

occupy my time so I thought to venture into your dreams to see what you were up to.”

“Lucky me,” Fallon mumbled as he dried his hands and left to make his way to the

kitchen.

“You were thinking of a female who cheats people by claiming to be a healer, who murders

those who oppose her in some unknown way. I do not like such humans. I will rid my world of

their ilk. Naturally, I will assist you and your mate in this.”

That surprised Fallon. “You want to help?”

“Did I not say I did?”
came the bark.
“Perhaps you are not as intelligent as I thought you,

pup.”

“Or maybe it’s too early in the morning to be throwing this shit at me,” Fallon

complained as he filled the coffee pot with water. When there was a long, ominous